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LORD   AMHERST. 


^N  AMHERST  BOOK. 


TK  COLLECTION  Or  STORIES,  POEHS, 
SONGS,  SKETCHES  TWD  HISTORICAL 
ARTICLES  BY  ALUHNI  7WD  UNDER- 
GRADUATES   or  AH  H ERST    COLLEGE. 


EDITED  BY 

HERBERT   E.   RILEY, 

CLASS  OF  '96. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


NEW  YORK: 

THE  REPUBLIC  PRESS, 

MDCCCXCVI. 


(^ 


Copj-right,  tSgf),  by 
Herbert  E.   Rii.ky. 


UCSB  LIBRARY. 


TO 

TXriHCRST 

—OLD  ?XND  NEW— 

THIS  WORK  or  HER  LOYT^L  SONS 

IS 

T^rPECTIONTTTELY  DEDIC?n"ED 


And  eastward  still,  upon  the  last  green  step 
From  which  the  Angel  of  the  Morning  Light 
Leaps  to  the  meadow-lands,  fair  Amherst  sat. 
Capped  by  her  many-windowed  colleges. 

f.  G.  HOLLAND. 


IMTRODUCTIOM. 

As  long  as  Thomas  Hughes  lived,  Rugby  and 
Oxford  could  count  on  the  presence  and  appre- 
ciative sympathy  of  an  "  old  boy  "  at  all  those 
games  and  great  occasions  so  dear  to  the  under- 
graduate heart.  He  was  a  link  between  their 
youthful  world  and  the  larger  sphere  that  was 
before  them;  for  while  his  distinction  and  great- 
ness among  men  lived  in  common  report,  the 
sight  of  his  familiar  grey  head  and  the  glance  at 
his  still  flashing  eye  were  visible  proof  that  he 
had  never  outgrown  the  associations  of  his  first 
and  freshest  interest. 

It  is  in  the  confidence  that  Rugby  and  Oxford 
are  not  exceptional  in  this  regard,  that  the  ed- 
itor of  the  present  volume  has  undertaken  to 
give  to  the  alumni  and  undergraduate  public 
these  unpretending  memorials  of  Amherst.  There 
must  be  a  goodly  number  in  that  broad  world  of 
profession  and  business  to  whom  the  scenes  and 
associations,  the  pursuits  and  pleasures,  of  their 
mind's  early  home  are  not  mere  outworn  boyish- 
ness or  "  matter  for  a  flying  smile,"  but  a  seed- 
plot  of  pleasant  memories,  a  genial  conservator 
of  youth  and   strength   even   in   oncoming  age. 


vi  INTKODUC  TION. 

And  the  volume  contains  the  earnest  of  this  in  a 
proof  more  tangible  than  a  mere  trust.  Alumni 
and  undergraduates  have  generously  placed  at 
his  disposal  graceful  sketches,  poems,  and  music, 
with  which  he  has  been  enabled  to  enrich  his 
book  by  names  not  only  cherished  by  the  college, 
but  already  well  known  in  the  world's  affairs. 

None  of  the  writers  here  represented  would 
want  these  sketches  to  be  regarded  as  specimens 
of  what  they  can  do.  They  are  simply  the 
means  taken  for  members  of  the  great  Amherst 
family,  part  still  residing  in  these  venerable  walls, 
part  growing  young  in  the  memory  and  influ- 
ence of  Alma  Mater,  to  chat  together  on  some 
of  the  things  that  form  a  common  stock  of  inter- 
est, to  bring  up  the  place  in  picture,  to  raise  now 
and  then  a  song.  If  "  An  Amherst  Book  "  may 
prove  in  some  degree  a  means  of  fostering  unity 
and  cordiality  of  spirit  between  the  older  and  the 
younger  sons  of  Amherst  its  object  will  be  ful- 
filled. 

John  F.  Genung. 


EDITOR'S  PRErACE. 

The  kind  introduction  given  this  little  volume 
by  one  who,  though  not  an  alumnus,  is  emi- 
nently worthy  of  adoption  by  our  Alma  Mater, 
leaves  to  the  editor  but  a  brief  prefatory  word. 
To  all  the  loyal  sons  and  friends  of  Amherst  who 
have  contributed  to  or  assisted  in  the  preparation 
of  the  book  the  editor  extends  his  sincere  thanks ; 
especially  to  Professor  John  F.  Genung  and  Pro- 
fessor H.  Humphrey  Neill,  whose  literary  taste 
and  critical  judgment  have  been  an  invaluable 
aid;  and  to  Mr.  William  S.  Rossiter,  '84,  for  his 
kindly  interest  and  advice  in  the  typographical 
preparation.  Prof.  Tyler's  History  of  the  Col- 
lege and  President  Hitchcock's  "  Reminiscences  " 
are  gratefully  acknowledged  as  sources  of  infor- 
mation and  illustration  in  the  compilation  of  the 
historical  articles.  While  not  intended  for  the  pur- 
pose, "  An  Amherst  Book  "  may  fitly  serve  as  a 
souvenir  of  Amherst's  seventy-fifth  birthday  an- 
niversary, which  will  be  quietly  celebrated  dur- 
ing Commencement  week.  The  volume  is  sub- 
mitted to  Amherst  men  with  the  hope  that  they 
will  find  in  the  perusal  of  its  pages  as  much  pleas- 
ure as  its  preparation  has  afiforded  the  editor. 

Herbert  E.  Riley. 

Amherst,  Mass., 
May,  1896. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page. 

Lord  Amherst, Frontispiece. 

The  Common, 6 

Pelham  Hills, 13 

College  Hill  in  1821, 20 

P          (  President's  House,  Library,  College  Hall,  )        . 
uroup  ^  cjjapei  and  Dormitories f      ^ 

College  Hill  in  1S24,    .         .         .         .        .         .         .30 

Bust  of  Noah  Webster, 38 

Chapel  Row  in  1828,    .         , 44 

Freshman  River, 51 

The  College  Well, 56 

The  College  Grove. 70 

Chapel  Row  in  1856 8r 

T7^„f^^„;f„  (-^^„^   ^  Alpha  Delta  Phi,  Psi  Upsilon,  )      0, 
Fraternity  Group  j  ^^^^^  ^^^^^  Y.i^s\on,    .         .\     ^^ 

Old  Uncle, 92 

Barrett  Gymnasium  and  East  College,  .         .         .         q6 

Amherst  College  in  i860, 98 

Professor  Charlie, 103 

^  j  Walker  Hall,  College  Church,  Pratt ) 

'^^^"P  I  Gymnasium,  Williston  Hall,  ]'        '  "° 

Sabrina, 118 

College  Hill  in  1875, 126 

Julius  Hawley  Seelye, 130 

Peanut  John, 135 

Pratt  Field, 140 

T7^„4.^^„;<.      r"^^,,^   S  Delta  Upsilon,  Chi  Psi,  ) 
Fraternity  Group  j  chi  Phi,  Beta  ThetaPii  [  •         "^45 

To  Hamp, 152 

Fraternity  (  Theta  Delta  Chi,  Phi  Delta  Theta,  ) 

Group,      .  I  Phi  Gamma  Delta,  Phi  Kappa  Psi,  )  •  ^=9 

f>          J  Hitchcock    Hall,   The    Octagon,  |  f, 

Lrroup  -j  Laboratories,   Appleton  Cabinet,  (  "         •  ^^ 

College  Hill  To-day, 170 

The  Avenue  of  Maples 177 

OldBridge  At  "The  Orient," 184 


COMTCMT5. 

Page. 
Hail,  Alma  Mater,  John  F.  Genung,  .        .         .       i 

Amherst :  Town  and  College,  Hebert  B.  Adams,  '72,  2 
On  Pelham  Hills,  Le  Roy  Phillips,  '92,  .  .  .12 
The  First  Milestone,  Dwight  W.  Morrow,  '95,  .  14 
The  True  Alumnus,  William  L.  Corbin,  '96,  .  .  19 
Amherst  College  in  1821,  Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97,     21 

A  Quatrain,  Clyde  Fitch,  '86, 25 

A  Discovery,  Le  Roy  Phillips,  '92,    .         .  .27 

Amherst  in  1824,  Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97,  .  .  29 
Old  Amherst,  Frank  D.  Blodgett,  '93,  .  .  .32 
Deceitful  Appearances,  John  C.  Duryea  Kitchen, '91,  33 
To  a  Rose,  Seymour  Ransom,  '92,  .  .  .  .36 
Noah  Webster  at  Amherst,  H.  Humphrey  Neill,  '66     37 

Unlocked,  Clyde  Fitch,  '86 43 

The  College  Buildings  in  1S28, 

Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97,  45 
Senate  Politics,  Alfred  Roelker,  Jr.,  '95,  .  .  49 
The  College  Well,  Herbert  A.  Jump,  '96,  .         .     57 

Amherst  Fifty  Years  Ago,  William  J.  Rolfe,  '49,  .  60 
In  Memoriam,  Henry  Wickes  Goodrich,  '80,  .  .  65 
An  Amherst  Legend,  Frederick  H.  Law,  '95,  .  .  66 
Fair  Amherst,  Frederick  W.  Raymond,  '99,  .  .  69 
Amherst  Commencements  Fifty  Years  Ago, 

Edward  Hitchcock,  '49,     71 
On  Reading  Kennan's  Siberian  Papers, 

Allen  E.  Cross,  '86,     75 
Memory  Song  to  Amherst,  John  F.  Genung,    .  76 

The  Glee,  L.  C.  Stone,  '96 78 

Amherst  Forty  Years  Ago,  E.  G.  Cobb,  '57,  .  .  79 
Frazar  Augustus  Stearns,  Seymour  Ransom,  '92,  .  84 
Initiated,  Frederick  H.  Law,  '95,      .  .        .85 


X  CONTENTS. 

Old  Uncle,  Herman  Babson,  '93 93 

Poirot,  Robert  Porter  St.  John,  '93,        .        .        .95 
Inscription  on  the  South  Wall  of  Barrett  Gymna- 
sium,         .........  97 

The  College  in  i860.  Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97,         .  99 

Professor  Charlie,  Roberts  Walker,  '96,  .         .         .  102 

Dreams,  W.  S.  Rossiter,  '84,      .         .                 .         .  106 

An  Unfinished  Story,  Charles  Amos  Andrews,  '95.  107 
Amherst  Serenade,  Tod  B.  Galloway,  '85,       .         .114 
Sabrina,  Charles  J.  Staples,  '96 

and  John  F.  Genung,  117 

The  Monument  of  Right,  William  L.  Corbin,  '96,  .  125 

Amherst  in  1875,  Edward  Clark  Hood,    .         .         .  127 

Julius  Hawley  Seelye,  Talcott  Williams,  '73,          .  131 

Peanut  John,  Archibald  L.  Bouton,  '96,           .         .  134 

Her  Light  Guitar,  L   C.  Stone,  '96,  ....  138 

The  Measure  of  a  Man . 

Worthington  C.  Holman,  '96,  139 
Within  Her  Kiss,  Robert  P.  St.  John,  '93,         .         .151 

Across  the  River,  Frank  Edgerton  Harkness.         .  153 
My  Lady,  George  Breed  Zug,  '93,     .         .         .         .157 

Jean  Benoit,  Herman  Babson,  '93,      ....  158 

The  Amherst  of  To-day,  Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97,  171 

In  Cap  and  Gown,  George  Breed  Zug.  '93,       .         .  175 
Song  of  the  Sea  Flight, 

Worthington  C.  Holman,  '96,  176 

Misunderstood,  Ernest  Merrill  Bartlett,  '94,        .  178 

Amherst  Good-Bye  Song,  John  F.  Genung,      .         .  188 


AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 


HAIL,  ALMA  MATER. 

Hail,  Alma  Mater,  old  Amherst  the  true, 

Queen  on  thy  living  throne; 
Thine  be  the  homage  to  wise  empire  due, 

Thine  be  our  hearts  alone, 

Great  in  the  past 

Standest  thou  fast, 
Thou  art  worthy;  reign,  be  strong  unto  the  last- 
Hail! 
Hail,  Alma  Mater,  old  Amherst  the  true, 

Thine  be  our  hearts  alone. 

John  F.  Genung. 


AMHEP5T:    TOWN  AND  COLLEGE. 


What's  in  a  name?  Oftentimes  a  good  bit  of 
history.  The  name  Amherst,  appHed  to  Town 
and  College,  was  originally  given  in  1759  in  hon- 
or of  General  Amherst,  the  hero  of  Louisbourg. 
He  was  the  commanding  officer  at  that  famous 
siege  in  1758,  when  the  French  stronghold  on 
Cape  Breton  Island  was  captured  by  the  British 
forces.  The  student  voyager  to  those  northern 
seas  may  still  find  in  a  land-locked  harbor  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  citadel.  They  were  once  a 
mile  and  a  half  in  extent,  and  enclosed  an  area 
of  120  acres.  Louisbourg  was  considered  impreg- 
nable. It  was  the  French  Gibraltar.  After  a 
two  months'  siege,  conducted  by  Generals  Am- 
herst and  Wolfe,  with  an  army  of  11,000  men, 
supported  by  a  great  fleet,  the  fortress  was  taken 
July  26,  1758.  It  was  a  glorious  victory.  The 
whole  northern  coast  was  now  dominated  by  the 
British.  Throughout  the  colonies,  men  thanked 
God  and  took  courage.  England  went  wild  with 
joy.  The  flags  captured  at  Louisbourg  were 
carried  in  triumph  through  the  streets  of  London, 
and  were  placed  as  trophies  in  the  cathedral  of 
St.  Paul.  In  recognition  of  his  distinguished  serv- 
ices. General  Amherst  was  made  commander-in- 


AMHERST:     TOWN  AND  COLLEGE.  3 

chief  of  the  king's  forces  in  America,  and  his 
name  was  honored  throughout  the  English- 
speaking  world.  In  1759  he  took  Ticonderoga 
and  Crown  Point.  The  following  year  he  capt- 
ured Montreal  and  the  French  army.  Thus 
ended  the  French  and  Indian  war.  Amherst 
had  won  all  Canada  for  Great  Britain 

From  the  beginning  of  recorded  history  towns 
have  been  named  after  illustrious  men.  Amherst 
and  Amherst  College  are  living  monuments  to 
the  hero  of  Louisbourg, — the  final  conqueror  of 
Canada.  When  the  inhabitants  of  East  Hadley 
applied  to  the  provincial  legislature  of  Massa- 
chusetts for  incorporation  as  a  district,  it  was 
suggested  by  Thomas  Pownal,  the  Royal  Gov- 
ernor at  Boston,  that  the  noble  name  of  Amherst 
be  given  to  the  new  and  enterprising  commu- 
nity. In  the  Acts  and  Resolves  of  the  Province 
of  Massachusetts  Bay,  (Vol.  IV.,  173,)  under 
the  date  of  February  13,  1759,  will  be  found  the 
Act  of  Incorporation: 

"  Whereas,  the  inhabitants  of  the  second  pre- 
cinct in  the  town  of  Hadley,  in  the  County  of 
Hampshire,  have  petitioned  this  court,  setting 
forth  sundry  difficulties  they  labour  under  by 
means  of  their  not  being  a  district,  and  praying 
they  may  be  so  erected;  be  it  therefore  enacted 
by  the  Governor,  Council,  and  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives: Sect.  I.  That  the  said  second 
precinct  in  Hadley,  according  to  its  present 
known  bounds,  be  and  hereby  is  erected  into  a 


4  AN'  A MHERS T  BOOK. 

separate  and  distinct  district  by  the  name  of  Am- 
herst; and  that  the  inhabitants  thereof  do  the 
duties  that  are  required,  and  enjoy  all  privileges 
that  towns  do,  or  by  law  ought  to,  enjoy  in  this 
province,  that  of  sending  a  representative  to  the 
general  assembly  only  excepted." 

This  is  a  fundamental  act  in  the  constitution 
and  naming  of  the  town  of  Amherst;  but  there 
is  something  even  more  fundamental  in  the  or- 
igin of  the  name  and  in  the  planting  of  the  town. 
The  name  itself  is  old  English.  It  was  first  ap- 
plied to  a  landed  estate  in  the  parish  of  Pembury, 
in  the  County  of  Kent.  Early  forms  of  the  name 
were  Hemhurste  and  Hemmehurst,  compound 
word.s,  formed  by  prefixing  the  Saxon  Hem, 
meaning  a  border,  to  the  Saxon  Hurst,  meaning 
a  wood.  Amherst,  therefore,  probably  signifies 
the  border  of  a  forest,  or  Edgewood.  It  may 
possibly  be  derived  from  Hamhurst  or  Home- 
wood.  The  Amherst  family  derived  its  name 
from  the  situation  of  its  land.  Gilbertus  de 
Hemmehurst  is  on  record  as  early  as  1215.  The 
family  occupied  its  Amherst  estate  for  over  five 
centuries,  but  now  lives  at  a  country  seat  called 
"  Montreal  House,"  near  Seven  Oaks,  Kent. 
The  present  owner  is  Earl  Amherst,  w^ho  signs 
his  name  simply  "  Amherst."  His  father  and 
grandfather  before  him  w^ere  earls,  but  the  man 
in  honor  of  whom  the  town  of  Amherst,  Massa- 
chusetts, was  named  in  1759  was,  at  that  time. 
Major  General  Jeflfery  Amherst. 


AMHERST:     TOWN  AND  COLLEGE.  5 

The  beginnings  of  Amherst,  Massachusetts, 
may  be  traced  back  to  the  first  years  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  The  student  of  Amherst  local 
history  who  wishes  to  see  the  earhest  monuments 
of  this  town  should  notice  three  historical  land- 
marks : 

East  and  West  Streets,  those  long  parallel 
highways  which,  in  1703,  first  divided  the  terri- 
tory called  East  Hadley  into  three  long  divisions, 
extending  north  and  south,  and  connected  by 
Main  street,  running  east  and  west.  This  road 
system  is  the  most  fundamental  fact  in  the  his- 
tory of  Amherst.  It  marked  off  the  division  in 
which  future  settlers  were  to  have  their  allot- 
ments of  land.  It  laid  the  basis  for  those  beau- 
tiful commons  which  mark  the  direction  of  East 
and  West  Streets,  but  which  are  by  no  means  as 
broad  to-day  as  when  originally  laid  out,  forty 
rods  wide,  in  imitation  of  the  West  Street  of 
Hadley.  In  the  year  1754  the  West  Street  of 
East  Hadley  was  reduced  to  twenty  rods  in 
width,  and  the  East  Street  to  twelve  rods. 

Next  to  these  highways,  the  oldest  historical 
landmark  is  the  burying-ground  on  the  east  side 
of  what  is  now  called  Pleasant  Street.  The 
town  of  Hadley  voted  January  5,  1730,  to  set 
apart  an  acre  of  ground  for  a  cemetery  for  the 
"East  Inhabitants,"  who  then  numbered  eight- 
een families.  Among  them  were  such  familiar 
names  as  Dickinson,  Chauneey,  Ingram,  Kel- 
logg,  Cowles,    Hawley,    Boltwood,    Smith,   and 


AMHERST:     TOWN  AND  COLLEGE.  7 

Nash.  Probably  some  of  the  oldest  stone  mon- 
uments of  the  little  farming  community  are  still 
above  ground  in  that  God's  acre,  where  "  the 
rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep."  Some  of 
the  inscriptions  on  tliose  weather-beaten  stones, 
just  beyond  the  entrance  from  Pleasant  Street, 
can  no  longer  be  deciphered.  Any  son  of  Am- 
herst who  wishes  to  know  something  of  its 
founders  and  pioneers  should  wander  through 
this  ancient  graveyard  where  the  continuity  of 
old  family  names  may  be  easily  followed  from 
generation  to  generation. 

College  Hill  is  the  most  conspicuous  and  his- 
torically interesting  landmark  in  the  whole  town 
of  Amherst.  The  place  where  the  College  Ob- 
servatory now  stands  was  once  the  Moot  Hill, 
or  meeting  place  of  the  original  parish,  which 
became  in  1759  the  District,  and  afterwards,  in 
1775,  the  Town  of  Amherst.  It  was  on  this  hill 
that  the  first  parish  church  was  erected,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  requirements  of  Hadley  and  the 
General  Court  of  Massachusetts.  The  East  In- 
habitants were  allowed  by  provincial  law,  in 
1734,  to  become  the  "Third  Precinct"  of  Had- 
ley on  the  condition  of  settling  a  "  learned  ortho- 
dox minister "  and  erecting  a  meeting-house. 
The  local  records  of  Amherst  begin  in  1735. 
The  first  vote  after  the  election  of  precinct  of- 
ficers was  "  to  hire  a  Minester  "  and  "  to  Build 
a  Meating  House,"  forty-five  by  thirty  feet  in 
dimensions.     That  little  meeting-house,  "  set  up- 


8  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

on  the  Hill,"  was  really  a  Temple  of  Victory  for 
local  and  independent  government  by  the  East 
Inhabitants  of  Hadley.  The  building  served  for 
civic  as  well  as  religious  purposes.  The  chief 
business  of  the  precinct  for  many  years  centred 
on  that  Moot  Hill,  where  such  questions  were 
settled  as  election  of  town  officers,  the  amount 
of  salary  and  firewood  for  the  minister,  the  seat- 
ing of  families  in  the  meeting-house  "  by  Estates 
Age  &  Qualifications,"  appropriations  "  for 
scooling,"  for  highways  and  bridges,  for  building 
a  pound,  for  hiring  persons  "  to  blow  ye  Kunk 
&  sweep  ye  Meeting  House."  That  conch-shell 
is  still  kept  by  Dr.  Hitchcock  on  College  Hill, 
where  the  sound  of  horns  or  bells  has  called  to- 
gether the  men  of  Amherst  for  many  genera- 
tions. 

The  founding  of  Amherst  College  is  insepar- 
ably connected  with  that  old  meeting  place 
where  two  parish  churches  were  successively 
built.  It  was  the  religious  spirit  fostered  there 
which  gave  rise  to  Amherst  Academy  and  to 
those  generous  subscriptions  of  money,  labor, 
and  materials  which  made  the  building  of  South 
College  possible.  Colonel  Elijah  Dickinson,  i 
townsman,  gave  the  original  six  acres  of  land 
for  the  site  of  Amherst  Collegiate  Institute.  For 
many  years  the  "  meeting-house "  on  the  Hill 
was  the  place  where  morning  and  evening  pray- 
ers, Sunday  services,  and  public  exercises  were 
attended  by  college  students.     Among  the  ar- 


AMHERST:     TOWN  AND  COLLEGE.  9 

gnments  of  the  trustees  of  Amherst  Academy 
for  the  estabUshment  of  a  central  college  in  Am- 
herst were  the  following: 

(i)  "  The  hill  in  the  centre  of  the  west  road 
in  Amherst  on  which  the  Church  stands  "  is  with- 
in about  two  miles  of  the  geographical  centre 
of  the  counties  of  Berkshire,  Hampshire,  Hamp- 
den, Franklin,  and  Worcester. 

(2)  The  hill  is  equally  central  between  the 
limits  of  the  commonwealth  on  the  north  and 
south. 

(3)  It  is  almost  equally  distant  from  the  Uni- 
versity of  Cambridge,  the  College  in  Providence, 
and  the  College  in  New  Haven.  In  each  case 
the  distance  is  about  eighty-five  miles. 

(4)  As  a  College  site  the  hill  is  further  recom- 
mended for  its  elevation,  salubrity,  and  beauty. 
It  comprehends  "  thirty  towns  in  three  counties 
within  a  single  view,  from  twenty-seven  of  which 
it  is  said  that  the  church  in  the  first  parish  in 
Amherst  may  be  seen." 

The  founders  of  Town  and  College  had  vision, 
without  which  the  people  perish.  College  Hill, 
the  natural  acropolis  of  Amherst,  has  been  a  de- 
termining constitutional  factor  in  the  history  of 
this  academic  village.  That  Moot-Hill,  where 
the  Observatory  still  stands,  was  the  original  seat 
of  town  and  parish  life.  The  village  grew 
along  the  hillsides.  The  meeting-house  was  for 
the  Puritan  townsmen  of  East  Hadley,  or  Am- 
herst, what  hill  forts,  citadels,  castles,  temples. 


lo  A  A'   AMIfERST  BOOK. 

or  churches  were  for  the  city  builders  of  the 
ancient  and  mediaeval  world.  Sightliness, 
health,  and  beauty  of  situation  characterized  the 
towns  of  ancient  Palestine,  Greece,  and  Italy. 
"  A  city  set  on  a  hill  cannot  be  hid."  The  little 
parish  church  of  East  Hadley,  45x30  feet  square, 
was  the  institutional  cornerstone  of  Amherst 
schools,  Amherst  Academy,  and  Amherst  Col- 
lege. 

Although  new  parishes  rose  to  the  east,  to 
the  north,  and  to  the  south  of  College  Hill,  and 
one  by  one  seceded  from  the  mother  church;  al- 
though for  a  time  town  meetings  were  held  in  the 
old  meeting-house  on  East  Street  Common ;  and 
although  the  first  postofifice  was  m  that  section 
of  the  town,  nevertheless  the  College  finally  re- 
stored the  lost  balance  of  power  to  the  village 
and  determined  the  future  development  and 
prosperity  of  Amherst.  It  is  still  a  hill  town, 
overlooking  beautiful  valleys  on  every  side,  but 
it  is  not  as  other  hill  towns  in  this  part  of  Mas- 
sachusetts. Amherst  is,  and  always  will  be,  a 
college  town.  Its  towers  will  be  seen  from 
afar  by  ambitious  youth  in  adjoining  counties. 
Like  the  acropolis  of  Athens,  Amherst  is 
crowned  by  a  Parthenon. 

Old  Amherst  still  resembles  the  original  Sax- 
on Hcmhurst  or  Edgewood.  The  forest  still 
fringes  the  northern  and  eastern  borders,  like  a 
primitive  Germanic  Mark.  And  yet,  by  the  en- 
terprise of  townsmen,  the  village  communitv  of 


AMHERST:     TOWN  AND  COLLEGE.  ii 

Amherst  is  well  connected  with  the  outside 
world.  It  was  an  opening  day  for  Amherst 
when,  in  1767,  the  enterprising  Simeon  Nash  be- 
gan to  drive  his  freight  wagon  to  Boston  and 
back,  once  a  week,  by  the  old  Bay  Path.  It  was 
a  greater  triumph  of  enterprise  when  the  treas- 
urer of  Amherst  College,  Squire  Dickinson,  by 
his  indomitable  will  power,  dragged  up  toward 
College  Hill  and  his  own  residence  the  Amherst 
and  Belchertown  Railway,  built  by  the  aid  of 
Amherst  capital.  But  the  greatest  of  all  open- 
ings from  our  hill-top  to  the  sea  was  made  in 
1888  by  the  Central  Massachusetts  Railroad. 

The  near  view  from  College  Hill,  across  those 
iron  ways  of  modern  travel,  is  more  lovely  than 
ever;  but  the  vision  of  Amherst  men  has  widened 
since  that  Collegiate  Institute  was  founded.  New 
missions  and  new  ministries  are  opening  on 
every  side  for  her  alumni.  Her  sons  are  in  con- 
gress and  in  many  branches  of  the  public  service; 
in  church,  state,  and  university;  on  the  press^ 
the  stage,  and  platform;  in  various  arts  and  kinds 
of  business.  All  fields  of  honest  labor,  from 
those  of  the  Puritan  farmers,  who  founded  the 
College  on  this  upland  pasture,  to  those  of  the 
ministerial  reformer,  the  busy  editor,  the  lawyer, 
the  doctor,  the  teacher,  and  the  social  worker  in 
our  great  cities,  are  seen  to  be  equally  honorable 
and  divine.  Every  man's  true  work  in  this 
world  is  inspired  like  that  of  the  plowman  men- 
tioned in  Isaiah  (28:24-29):   "  For  his  God  doth 


12  AN  AMHERST  BL  OK. 

instruct  him  aright,  and  doth  teach  him.  .  .  This 
also  Cometh  forth  from  the  Lord  of  hosts,  which 
is  wonderful  in  counsel,  and  excellent  in  wis- 
dom." For  the  opened  eyes  and  for  the  larger 
vision  let  Young  Amherst  be  grateful  to  Old 
Amherst.  Everywhere  her  children  rise  up  and 
call  her  blessed  Alma  Mater. 

"  Give  her  of  the  fruit  of  her  hands; 
And  let  her  works  praise  her  in  the  gates." 

Herbert  B.  Adams,  '72. 


ON  PELHAM  HILL5. 

On  Pelham  Hills  some  tinted  ray 
Now  rests  awhile,  then  fades  away 
In  shifting  blue  or  purple  glow. 
Whose  changing  shadows  seem  to  show 
The  brilliant  splendor  of  the  day. 

Not  always  decked  in  glad  array, 
Ofttimes  a  garb  of  sombre  gray 

Is  Nature's  pleasure  to  bestow 
On  Pelham  Hills. 

Kind,  sympathizing  friends  are  they. 
Who  feel  our  changing  moods — now  gav, 
Or  now  in  sadness  bathed;  and  so 
When  joys  and  sorrows  come  or  go. 
We  read  sweet  Nature's  sympathy 
On  Pelham  Hills. 

Le  Roy  Phillips,  '92. 


_;    o 

-J  H 


;  THE  riRST  MILESTONE. 

He  was  only  fifteen  when  the  young  lawyer 
began  calling  on  his  sister.  She  had  just  passed 
nineteen,  but  the  four  years  difference  in  their 
ages  had  never  seemed  so  great  as  it  did  now. 
He  could  remember,  clear  back  to  the  time  when 
he  was  four,  how  he  had  looked  up  to  that  sister 
and  considered  her  judgment  infallible,  and  every 
year  since  then  had  but  emphasized  those  early 
impressions.  She  was  the  eldest  of  the  family, 
and  every  little  gprievance  had  been  carried  to  her. 
She  had  been  the  uncrowned  queen  of  the  house- 
hold since  that  day  when  she  had  started  bravely 
forth  to  the  public  school,  and  had  come  back 
with  wonderful  stories  of  that  strange  world, 
which  still  seemed  at  such  a  distance  from  the 
rest  of  them.  And  her  sway  had  not  been  less 
potent  because  she  had  always  carefully  con- 
cealed her  sceptre  and  had  made  no  show  of  the 
unlimited  power  which  the  one  small  hand  con- 
tained. When,  in  a  fit  of  passion,  he  had 
clenched  his  fist  and  struck  his  little  sister,  the 
deep  feeling  of  shame  that  had  come  over  him 
when  that  older  sister  turned  scornfully  from 
him  and  called  him  a  coward,  still  brought  the 
hot  blushes  to  his  temples.  And  when  he  and 
his  brother  had  quarrelled,  and  his  brother  came 
in  from  the  street  with  his  head  all  bleeding  from 


THE   FIRST  MILESTONE.  15 

the  stone  which  his  murderous  hand  had  thrown, 
he  had  envied  that  brother — yes,  envied  him, 
even  with  the  ugly  gash  across  his  white  fore- 
head, when  she  was  kissing  away  the  tears  and 
sorrowfully  binding  up  the  wound. 

When  he  had  grown  older  it  was  his  sister 
who  had  stirred  his  ambition  and  excited  his 
dreams.  He  had  studied  for  her  sake,  that  she 
might  be  proud  of  him.  He  remembered  how, 
during  a  certain  stage  in  his  career,  he  had  given 
up  his  desire  to  be  a  fireman  or  a  street-car  con- 
ductor, when  she  told  him  of  higher  things  and 
pointed  out  nobler  deeds.  From  her  lips  he 
could  believe  that  there  were  occupations  even 
more  honorable  than  standing  on  top  of  a  burn- 
ing building  directing  a  great  stream  of  water, 
while  thousands  of  envious  boys  crowded  the 
street  below  and  cheered  his  bright  uniform. 
Thus,  little  by  little,  she  had  shaped  his  char- 
acter. 

When  she  had  gone  away  to  school  he  had 
broken  the  one  inflexible  rule  of  his  young  life 
and  had  written  letters  to  her.  He  remembered 
how  he  copied  the  first  one  several  times,  until 
the  great  improvement  he  had  made  in  writing 
during  the  few  days  she  had  been  away  could 
not  fail  to  impress  her.  When  the  weekly  notes 
came  from  her  he  had  read  them  with  delight, 
and  had  tried  to  analyze  their  charm.  They  didn't 
seem  to  be  in  just  the  proper  form.  They  were 
different  from  the  ones  in  the  Standard  Letter 


ifi  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

Writer,  which  he  had  studied  so  carefully  and 
tried  to  copy.  His  sister  always  seemed  to  talk 
on  paper  rather  than  write  a  real  letter.  Then  he 
remembered  how,  when  it  came  time  for  vacation, 
he  had  always  gone  to  the  station  to  meet  her. 
He  recalled  especially  that  vacation  when  he  had 
stood  by  her  side  and  found  that  his  eyes  came 
higher  than  hers,  and  she  had  looked  up  into 
them  and  dubbed  him  her  young  knight. 

But  somehow  all  these  things  seemed  a  little 
different  after  the  young  lawyer  began  to  call. 
And  he  liked  the  young  lawyer,  too.  He  was  the 
first  real  live  college  man  who  had  ever  come 
distinctly  within  his  narrow  horizon,  and  in  those 
days,  when  he  was  dreaming  of  college  life,  he 
v.as  eager  to  welcome  and  admire  anyone  who 
had  come  fresh  from  that  foreign  country.  He 
used  to  watch  the  young  lawyer  carefully,  and  he 
tried  to  imitate  him.  He  tried  to  get  into  the 
habit  of  biting  his  lips  thoughtfully  when  a  hard 
question  was  asked  him,  and  he  tried  to  look 
grave  and  knit  his  brow  and  choose  his  words 
carefully  when  he  wanted  to  impress  his  play- 
mates. Then  the  young  lawyer  had  a  way  of 
carrying  things  with  a  rush  that  pleased  the  boy. 
He  liked  eager,  impulsive,  fearless  men,  and  the 
young  lawyer  had  such  pronounced  views,  and 
expressed  them  so  boldly,  that  from  the  first  the 
boy  was  his  staunch  adherent.  But  much  as  he 
liked  and  admired  the  newcomer,  he  always 
looked  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  interloper. 


THE   FIRST  MILESTONE.  17 

Finally,  one  winter  evening,  when  the  boy — 
all   flushed    with    violent    exercise — had   rushed 
noisily  into  the  house,  he  read,  or  thought  he 
read,  on  his  sister's  face  a  different  story  than 
he  had  ever  seen  there  before.     She  came  for- 
ward to  meet  him  with  a  joyous  light  in  her 
eyes,  her  face  all  covered  with  pretty  laughing 
blushes.     Then  she  timidly  held  out  to  him  the 
back  of  her  left  hand,  half  conceaHng  it  with  the 
other,  as  though  hesitating  to  disclose  her  se- 
cret; but  the  boy's  quick  eye  caught  the  sparkle 
of  the  diamond.     He  never  forgot  that  picture. 
Even  he  was  old  enough  to  see  that  his  sister 
had  changed   from   girlhood   into   womanhood, 
and  the  solemn  thought  suddenly  came  to  him 
that  if  his  sister  was  a  woman,  he  was  a  man. 
The  thought  had  never  come  to  him  with  such 
force  before.     Manhood  had  always   seemed  a 
great,  vague,  indefinite  field,  which  would  not 
be  reached  for  years.     He  had  never  dreaded  its 
coming.       He   had    always   looked   forward   to 
meeting  the  world  on  equal  terms  and  manfully 
offering  it  battle.     Now,  for  the  first  time,  he 
had  caught   sight   of  the   foe.     Childhood   was 
passed.     His  sister  had  become  a  woman,  and 
that  single  step  of  hers  had  carried  him  forward 
into  a  new  region. 

Now  this  boy  was  not  what  is  usually  known 
as  a  home  boy.  He  was  not  extraordinarily 
imaginative.  On  the  contrary,  his  friends  had 
always  called  him  practical  and  prosaic.     So  he 


i8  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

didn't  do  anything  that  might  seem  fooUsh  on 
this  occasion.  He  laughingly  kissed  the  blush- 
ing face  of  his  sister  and  examined  the  diamond 
ring  with  critical  care.  Then  he  exhausted  his 
small  vocabulary  in  extravagant  praise  of  the 
young  lawyer.  But  that  night,  before  he  went 
to  sleep,  his  head  tossed  uneasily  on  his  pillow, 
for  the  first  seed  of  unrest  had  been  planted  in 
his  soul,  and  the  first  burning  desire  for  mighty 
deeds  of  emprise  had  seized  upon  his  mind. 

The  boy  grew  into  a  young  man.  He  went 
away  to  college,  and  along  with  many  other 
changing  views  he  learned  that  his  sister  was 
no  less  an  aid  and  an  inspiration  to  him  because 
she  was  pointing  out  to  another  man  the  path 
to  success.  He  went  out  into  the  world.  He 
met  the  enemy  for  whom  he  had  longed,  and  to 
his  great  surprise,  the  lance,  which  had  seemed 
so  well  tempered,  had  broken  into  pieces  against 
the  rounded  shield  of  his  foe.  He  dragged  his 
battered  armor  to  his  sister's  feet,  and  the  wealth 
of  affection  which  she  was  then  bestowing  upon 
her  children  had  only  increased  her  loyalty  to 
her  first  subject.  The  hurrying  years  mended 
his  old  wounds  and  brought  new  ones  in  their 
place,  but  through  them  all  he  carried  the  re- 
membrance of  that  first  experience.  He  grew 
to  love  another  girl,  the  only  girl  who  had  ever 
reminded  him  of  his  sister.  He  read  in  her 
eyes  that  story,  which  came  to  him  like  a  dream 
of  the  past,  and  he  was  happy. 


THE   TRUE  ALUMNUS.  19 

He  passed  on  into  full  manhood.  He  founded 
a  happy  home,  and  in  the  soft  glow  of  his  fire- 
side he  forgot  the  wild  dreams  of  fame  that  had 
once  been  his.  The  day  came  when,  even 
through  his  glasses  and  tear-dimmed  eyes,  he 
read  the  same  story;  this  time  on  the  face  of  his 
daughter;  and  again  it  came  to  him  like  a  vision 
of  the  past.  The  story  never  grew  old  to  the 
man.  Every  time  he  read  it  he  loved  it;  but  at 
no  time  did  it  make  so  deep  an  impression  upon 
his  character  as  it  did  at  that  first  milestone. 

DWiGHT  W.  Morrow,  '95. 


THE  TRUE  ALUMNUS. 

Loyal  to  his  Alma  Mater, 

Prized  in  friendship's  length'ning  chain, 
Let  him  to  the  reef  of  wisdom 

Add  at  least  one  coraled  grain. 

William  L.  Corbin,  '96, 


AMHERST  COLLEGE  IN   1521. 

A  person  acquainted  with  the  Amherst  of  to- 
day will  see  just  one  familiar  feature  in  the 
cut  on  the  opposite  page — the  unmistakable 
outlines  of  one  of  the  College  dormitories.  All 
the  rest  the  finger  of  time,  together  with  the 
more  impatient  hand  of  man,  has  changed  be- 
yond recognition.  The  church  on  the  crest  of 
the  hill  is  the  old  First  Congregational  IMeeting- 
house,  which  stood  from  1788  until  1828  upon 
the  spot  where  the  Observatory  is  now  located. 
The  building  on  the  left  is  old  South  College, 
the  first  edifice  of  the  Amherst 'Collegiate  Insti- 
tution. 

Just  here  a  few  words  in  reference  to  the  early 
history  of  the  college  will  be  in  place,  for  one 
cannot  understand  the  story  of  these  first  col- 
lege buildings  without  knowing  something  of 
the  circumstances  under  which  they  were  ac- 
quired. Throughout  the  opening  years  of  the 
century  there  was  a  growing  need  of  a  college 
in  the  central  part  of  Massachusetts.  Everybody 
felt  it,  the  churches  most  of  all,  and  now  and 
then  they  said  so  in  their  assemblies.  Accord- 
ingly, when  the  trustees  of  Amherst  Academy, 
encouraged  by  the  remarkable  success  of  that 
institution,  determined  in   1818  to  start  on  the 


22  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

larger  venture  of  a  collegiate  institution,  they 
had  with  them  not  only  the  goodwill,  but  the  en- 
thusiasm and  active  support  of  the  counties  of 
Central  ^Massachusetts.  But  this  did  not  mean 
unlimited  wealth  for  the  College,  for  the  people 
at  that  time  were  poor,  and  what  they  were  able 
to  do  in  a  benevolent  way  was  claimed  by  the 
home  churches.  It  is  interesting  to  know 
that  the  council  representing  the  churches  of 
this  part  of  the  state,  which  met  in  September, 
1818,  to  hear  the  plans  of  the  trustees,  came 
very  near  locating  the  College  in  Northampton. 
But  the  eloquent  arguments  of  two  loyal  citizens 
of  Amherst  turned  the  vote,  and  Northampton 
was  left  for  another  institution  of  learning. 

After  the  plans  for  the  startirg  of  the  College 
had  been  matured,  the  trustees  were  compelled 
to  wait  nearly  two  years,  until  the  question  of 
removing  Williams  College — at  that  time  suffer- 
ing greatly  from  its  isolated  situation-^to  some 
central  part  of  the  state  could  be  settled.  As 
soon  as  the  State  Legislature  decided  that  Wil- 
liams College  should  femain  in  Williamstown, 
the  trustees  of  Amherst  Academy  took  immedi- 
ate steps  towards  the  erection  of  a  suitable  build- 
ing for  the  new  collegiate  institution.  They 
secured  ten  acres  of  land  on  the  hill  where  the 
]>arish  meeting-house  stood,  and  proceeded  to 
break  the  ground  for  a  building  thirty  feet  wide, 
one  hundred  feet  long,  and  four  stories  high. 

The  town  of  Amherst  will  never  again  work 


AMHERST  COLLEGE  IN  1821.  23 

itself  lip  to  such  a  pitch  of  excitement  as  it 
reached  over  the  erection  of  this  first  college 
building.  The  people  gave  all  the  money  they 
could  spare,  and  then  donated  material,  labor, 
teams,  and  provisions  for  the  workmen.  The 
cornerstone  was  laid  August  9,  1820.  Dr.  Noah 
Webster,  then  celebrated  for  his  famous  spelling- 
book,  and  who  was  one  of  the  most  energetic  of 
the  founders  of  Amherst  College,  delivered  the 
oration.  Before  September  18,  1821,  the  day  set 
for  the  inauguration  of  President  Moore,  and  for 
the  dedication  of  the  first  building,  the  structure 
was  not  only  complete,  but  about  half  its  rooms 
were  furnished,  ready  for  occupation  by  the  stu- 
dents. The  building  was  constructed  on  a  sim- 
ple plan,  but  an  excellent  one  for  its  purpose. 
A  transverse  partition  through  the  middle  divides 
it  into  two  "  entries,"  between  which  there  is  no 
communication,  except  through  the  loft.  The 
rooms  were  originally  large  and  square,  and  each 
was  intended  to  be  used  as  study  and  bedroom 
for  two  students.  Not  until  twenty-five  years 
later  were  bedrooms  partitioned  ofif  from  some  of 
the  studies. 

The  lithograph  gives  a  good  idea,  in  the  main, 
of  the  appearance  of  the  college  grounds  at  that 
time.  It  is  correct  in  showing  the  old  church  on 
higher  ground  than  the  dormitory ;  the  knoll  was 
graded  some  ten  years  later  to  its  present  level. 
But  the  idea  it  gives  should  be  modified  in  some 
of  the  details.       The  hill  upon  which   the  two 


24  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

buildings  stood  was  more  of  an  eminence  than 
appears  in  the  picture,  and  the  five  trees  repre- 
sented are  more  artistic  than  true  to  fact,  for  the 
grounds  were  in  their  original  rude  state,  and 
destitute  of  anything  like  trees  or  shrubs.  In  the 
rear  of  the  college  grounds  the  primeval  forest 
began  and  stretched  away,  unbroken,  to  the  east- 
ward over  the  Pelham  hills.  The  main  highway 
ran  along  the  brow  of  the  hill,  some  distance  in 
front  ot  the  buildings.  About  a  hundred  feet  to 
the  northeast  of  the  dormitory  was  dug  the  fa- 
mous College  well. 

During  the  first  year  and  a  half  of  its  exist- 
ence the  whole  College  lived  and  recited  in  the 
one  building,  though  morning  and  evening  pray- 
ers were  held  in  the  church ;  and  there,  occupying 
the  seats  in  the  gallery,  the  students  worshipped 
on  Sunday  with  the  townspeople. 

If  the  rooms  in  the  old  dormitory  could  only 
speak,  what  stories  they  would  have  to  tell !  Take 
number  thirty,  for  example,  known  later  by  the 
rhythmical  name  of "  South  College,  South  En- 
try, Fourth  Story,  Front  Corner," — or  "  Ultima 
Thulc,"  for  short.  There  the  first  Senior  class 
studied  and  slept  and  recited,  but  was  not  crowd- 
ed, for  at  that  time  the  Senior  class  consisted 
of  Messrs.  Field  and  Snell.  There  the  Psi  Upsi- 
lon  fraternity  used  to  hold  its  meetings,  and 
there  was  the  centre  of  the  famous  squirt-gun 
riot.  The  Sophomore  class  of  '6i  had  laid  out 
in  state  "  S.  Gunn,  ex-member  of  the  class  of 


A    QUATRAIN.  25 

'60,"  in  this  room,  preparatory  to  a  formal  burial 
in  token  of  cessation  of  hostilities  with  the  Fresh- 
men. It  happened  that  S.  Gunn  had  been  stolen 
from  the  Juniors,  and  they  naturally  objected  to 
the  cool  appropriation  of  their  property.  Ac- 
cordingly, while  the  Sophomores  were  at  dinner, 
the  Juniors  marched  up  in  a  body  and  besieged 
the  room.  Before  many  minutes  the  Sopho- 
mores learned  of  the  invasion  and  came  running 
up  the  stairs.  Then  followed  a  battle  royal.  The 
Juniors  demolished  the  garret  stairs  and  used  the 
pieces  to  pound  the  Sophomores'  heads.  They 
broke  through  the  ceiling  of  the  room,  and 
through  the  double  doors,  but  a  pistol  in  the 
hands  of  the  Soph  who  stood  guard  inside  per- 
suaded them  not  to  enter.  Just  as  the  Sopho- 
mores were  getting  the  upper  hand  the  President 
appeared  upon  the  field,  and  the  settlement  of  the 
matter  was  completed  by  arbitration.  That  after- 
noon the  Sophomores  buried  S.  Gunn  with  elab- 
orate ceremony. 

Edward  Clakk  Hood,  "97. 


A  QUATRAIN. 

I'd  rather  lose  and  break  my  heart, 
Than  keep  it  whole  forever, 

And  live  my  life  from  you  apart. 
And  see,  and  know  you,  never. 

Clyde  Fitch,  '86. 


A  DISCOVERY. 

One  morning,  wiiile  rummaging  about  amon^" 
the  stacks  of  old  newspapers  which  abound  on 
the  lower  floor  of  tl  e  library  building,  I  hap- 
pened upon  a  copy  of  the  Pelham  Herald,  h.-ir- 
ing  date  Fel).  29,  1827.  As  this  was  the  issue  of 
the  day  following  the  dedication  of  the  old  chapel 
— then  known  as  the  Johnson  Chapel — it  con- 
tained a  detailed  account  of  the  dedicatory  exer- 
cises, together  with  a  description  of  t!.c  building. 
The  latter  I  copied.       It  j^m  as  follows: 

"  To  the  Amherst  College  student  there  is  no 
elevation  so  grand  as  the  summit  of  College  Hill, 
and  the  erection  of  the  Johnson  Chapel  upon  this 
spot  marks  the  culminating  point  in  the  history 
of  the  College.  The  building,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  square  tower  over  the  entrance,  is  an 
exact  reproduction  of  tlie  Athenian  Parthenon, 
and  those  who  have  seen  the  two  say  that  a  sim- 
ilar tov.er  would  have  also  added  much  to  the 
grandeur  of  the  latter.  3,Iounting  high  above  the 
cluster  of  smaller  buildings,  it  can  be  seen  for 
miles  around,  and  charms  the  observer  with  its 
fine  architectural  proportions.  A  tower  above 
an  entrance  certainly  gives  prominence  and  im- 
pressiveness,  and  makes  a  fitting  approach  to  a 
great  bv.ilding.     The  Parthenon  was  built  in  the 


28  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

best  period  of  Greek  architecture,  and  under  the 
inspiration  of  the  greatest  genius  in  art — Phidias. 
It  is  fortunate  that  the  students  will  have  so  fine 
a  model  of  his  great  work  constantly  before  their 
eyes,  and  it  must  needs  give  them  great  inspira- 
tion in  the  study  of  Greek  art.  The  observer  of 
the  Johnson  Chapel  gains  a  conception  of  the 
purity  and  exquisite  grace  of  ancient  art  that 
can  be  obtained  nowhere  else  in  America.  The 
broad  steps,  massive  Doric  pillars,  surmounted 
by  proportionate  capitals,  the  frieze,  and  the 
severity  of  geometrical  forms,  take  us  back  to 
the  age  of  Pericles,  and  College  Hill  becomes 
the  Athenian  Acropolis.  As  simplicity  and 
grandeur,  boldness  and  originality  in  design 
made  the  Parthenon  the  pride  of  Athens,  so  the 
Johnson  Chapel  will  ever  be  a  wonder,  a  pride, 
and  a  glory  to  Amherst  College." 

As  I  was  copying  these  last  Hues  the  recita- 
tion-bell rang  in  the  tower  which  would  have 
been  such  an  addition  to  the  Parthenon;  and  1 
liastened  to  attend  class  beneath  its  "  prominence 
raid  impressiveness." 

Le  Roy  Phillips,  '92. 


/AMHERST  IN   1524. 

The  infant  College  grew  rapidly,  as  infants 
will,  and  soon  became  altogether  too  large  to  be 
contained  in  the  single  building.  Accordingly, 
in  the  fall  of  1822,  another  dormitory  was 
erected,  and  was  ready  for  use  by  the  opening 
of  the  winter  term  in  1823.  It  was  uniform  in 
size  and  plan  with  the  other,  except  that  the 
fourth  floor  of  the  south  entry  was  reserved  for 
public  uses,  the  space  now  occupied  by  the  two 
corner  rooms  and  hall  being  left  without  par- 
tition and  used  as  chapel  and  lecture-room.  The 
two  inner  rooms  were  used,  one  for  the  College 
Hbrary,  and  the  other  as  a  cabinet  for  chemical 
apparatus. 

It  was  in  this  hall  in  the  upper  part  of  the  old 
dormitory  that  the  famous  goose  episode  oc- 
curred. Just  before  morning  prayers  some 
waggish  student  had  tied  a  goose  in  the  Presi- 
dent's chair.  The  President  stood  up  during 
the  exercise  that  morning,  but  otherwise  no 
notice  was  taken  of  the  intruder.  During  the 
day,  however,  the  more  decorous  of  the  students 
worked  up  considerable  feeling  over  the  matter 
and  proposed  to  hold  an  indignation  meeting  of 
the  College.  At  prayers  that  evening  President 
Humphrey  found  it  necessary  to  make  some 
reference  to  the  matter.  He  both  relieved  those 
students  who  were  indignant,  and  got  more  than 


AMHERST  IN    1824.  31 

even  with  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed  by  saying, 
in  a  perfectly  iininipassioned  manner:  *'  Gen- 
tlemen, the  trustees  have  intended  to  provide 
competent  instructors  in  all  the  departments,  so 
as  to  meet  the  capacity  of  every  student.  But 
it  seems  that  one  student  was  overlooked,  and  I 
am  sure  they  will  be  glad  to  learn  that  he  has 
promptly  supplied  the  deficiency  by  choosing  a 
goose  for  his  tutor.  Par  nobile  fratnnn"  The 
humor  may  seem  just  a  little  heavy  at  this  dis- 
tance, but  at  that  time  it  came  in  perfectly  pat, 
and  the  students  went  down  the  stairs  laughing 
and  shouting:  "  Who  is  brother  to  the  goose?  " 
There  is  another  feature  in  the  lithograph  of 
1824  that  must  not  be  overlooked — the  old  bell- 
tower.  The  College  had  been  regularly  waked 
up  and  called  to  prayers  by  the  bell  in  the  steeple 
of  the  meeting-house,  vmtil  some  benevolent  per- 
son considerately  donated  a  bell  to  the  College, 
doubtless  thinking  that  if  the  College  only  had  a 
bell  it  would  straightway  build  a  chapel  to  go 
with  it.  The  College  did  the  best  it  could  at  the 
time,  and  set  up  a  rude  tower  at  the  north  end 
of  North  College.  There  the  new  bell  wagged 
its  deafening  iron  tongue  for  about  a  year,  until 
the  students — either  because  of  the  unsightliness 
of  the  tower,  or  because  the  brazen  mouth  of  the 
bell  was  altogether  too  near  their  bedroom  win- 
dows— assembled  one  pleasant  evening,  and 
playfully  tipped  the  whole  thing  over. 

Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97. 


OLD  AMHERST. 

Old  Amherst!  thy  sons,  wherever  they  roam, 

All  unite  in  their  words  of  thy  praise; 
Our  pride  thou  hast  been  through  the  years  that 
are  gone, 

Thy  glories,  thy  honors  we'll  raise. 
Thy  sons  are  all  true,  they  are  loyal  to  thee; 

All  are  one  when  thy  honor's  at  stake. 
Thou  art  dearer  to  us  than  our  words  can  ex- 
press ; 

We  ever  will  toil  for  thy  sake. 

From  the  North,  from  the  South,  from  the  East, 
from  the  West, 
The  hearts  of  thy  sons  turn  to  thee; 
We   dream    of    thy    precepts,    we   trust    in    thy 
strength, 
Thy  glory  before  us  we  see. 
Our  breasts  throb  with  joy  when  we  think  of 
thy  halls, 
Our  eyes  dim  with  thoughts  of  the  past; 
And  mem'ries  come  thronging  of  days  that  are 
gone. 
That  in  fancy  forever  shall  last. 

Then  here's  to  thy  future!     Thy  past  is  secure; 

Thy  glories,  thy  triumphs  are  ours: 
Thy  honor,  thy  name,  thy  position,  thy  fame, 

Will  increase  by  the  use  of  our  powers, 
^lay  thy  sons  be  a  glory,  an  honor,  a  strength! 

May  success  crown, our  tasks  and  bring  cheer! 
May   thy   teachings   illumine   the   paths   of   our 
lives. 

Alma  Mater!     Old  Amherst,  so  dear! 

Frank  D.  Blodgett,  '93. 


DECEUrUL  APPEARANCES. 

It  was  the  day  after  the  Prom.,  and  I  found 
myself  inclined  to  devote  an  hour  or  so  to  the 
charms  of  Morpheus.  Spurning  the  hospitality 
of  my  old  friend — the  window-seat — and  ridding 
myself  of  certain  outer  garments,  I  retired  to  the 
inner  sanctum,  where  I  was  soon  sleeping  a 
sweet  sleep,  with  an  accompaniment  of  dreams, 
in  which  were  mingled  most  tunefully  the  strains 
of  a  waltz  and  visions  of  a  decidedly  pretty  face. 

After  an  indefinite  period  of  this  enjoyment  I 
started  up  with  the  dim  consciousness  of  voices 
in  our  study,  and  also  the  murmur  of  animated 
conversation  in  Ned's  room  adjoining.  I  could 
distinguish  Dick's  musical  tones — remarkably 
subdued  in  this  case — and  I  was  about  to  hallo 
lazily  to  him  for  the  time  of  day,  but  finally 
found  courage  enough  to  get  up  and  pull  aside 
the  portierre.  I  pulled  it  back  with  considerable 
haste.  Dick  was  snugly  ensconced  in  the  win- 
dow-seat, with  the  curtain  carelessly  drawn,  and 

a  girl!     I  peeked  cautiously  out.     No,  they 

hadn't  seen  me.  I  manfu'iy  blessed  the  Hebe 
who  had  seen  fit  to  clear  up  the  study,  and  as 
quickly  poured  forth  malediction  on  her  head 
for  putting  my  things  away  carefully  in  my  study 
closet,  as  far  beyond  my  reach  as  if  they  were 


34  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

in  the  next  house.  And  to  crown  all,  I  remem- 
bered that  the  key  which  unlocked  the  second 
exit  from  my  bedroom  was  lost.  A  pretty  state 
of  things,  truly! 

Just  then  Dick's  voice  began  to  rise,  and  be- 
fore I  knew  it  his  lips  uttered  words  that  I  could 
not  fail  to  hear  and  appreciate,  though  at  the 
same  time  I  was  mightily  shocked  at  their  im- 
port. 

"  And  now,"  he  began,  "  now  that  we  are 
alone,  may  I  say  something  to  you — something 
that  I  have  been  longing  to  say,  but  for  which 
tim.e  and  corrage  have  hitherto  been  w'anting. 
May — may   I   speak  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  came  the  almost  inaudible  reply ;  the 
while  I  raged  inwardly  at  being  obliged  to  listen, 
and  cursed  Dick  for  having  chosen  such  an  in- 
opportune occasion,  and  reviled  his  disregard 
for  the  proprieties. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  express  my 
thoughts,"  Dick  continued,  his  voice  strained 
with  emotion.  "  But  you  cannot  have  misun- 
derstood my  intentions.  Miss Agnes — I  love 

you!"  The  young  rascal  was  making  a  pro- 
posal for  marriage. 

"  This  '  is  all  so  sudden ! — I  had  no  idea  of 
such  a  thing!  I  never  thought," — the  reply 
came,  in  tremulous  tones. 

"  But  you  do  now — you  love  me — ah,  how 
happy  we  shall  be ! "  There  was  a  delighted 
little  laugh.     I   entertained   a   wild   thought   of 


DECEITFUL   APPEARANCES.  35 

enveloping  myself  in  my  bathrobe  and  fleeing, 
when  the  talking  in  Ned's  room  suddenly  grew 
louder,  and  presently  sounded  in  the  hall.  The 
window-seat  heard  it,  too. 

"  Hush,"  said  Dick,  "  they  are  coming!  Don'i 
breathe  a  word  of  this — they  will  know  all  about 
it  soon  enough !  "  The  words  were  scarcely  said 
before  the  rest  crow^ded  in,  four  of  them — I 
could  tell  by  their  voices — all  buzzmg  like  a 
swarm   of   bees. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  the  while?  "  asked 
one. 

"  We  thought  you  were  lost !  "  chimed  in  an- 
other. 

"  It  was  highly  improper,  especially  for  you!  " 
added  a  third,  reprovingly,  with  a  glance  at  the 
window-seat.  I  mentally  seconded  this  senti- 
ment. Then  followed  the  usual  list  of  pleasant 
things  said  about  the  room,  arid  they  departed, 
Dick  excusing  himself  and  promising  to  be  at 
the  train. 

They  were  scarcely  gone  when  I  stuck  my 
head  between  the  curtains. 

"  Dick,"  I  said,  "  youVe  a  villain!  " 

"Hello!"  he  replied,  coolly.  "Have  you  just 
waked  up?" 

"  No  trifling!  "  I  said,  sternly.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  violating  the  Platonic  sacredness  of  our 
window-seat  by  oflfering  yourself  in  marriage?" 

"  What!  "  he  exclaimed,  and  threw  himself  on 
the  cushions.     I  thought  he  was  going  to  have 


36  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

a  fit.  Finally  he  gasped  out  between  the  con- 
vulsions: "Oh! — pity  3^ou're  a  Senior! — next 
year's  Olio ! — Oh !  "  At  last  he  came  to  himself 
to  explain. 

"  Merely  the  chaperon  of  Ned's  party,  my  dear 
boy,  rehearsing  my  part  in  the  Senior  dramatics 
with  me,  that's  all,"  and  he  turned  over  the 
prompt-book.  I  read  the  love  scene,  line  for 
line. 

But  if  Dick  does  as  well  as  that  at  Commence- 
ment— well,  he  ought  to  take  to  the  stage. 

John  C.  Duryea  Kitchen,  '91. 


TO  A  POSE. 


Found  on  the  lapel  of  afi  old  dress  coat. 

Crimson-colored,   fresh  and   fragrant  were   thy 

leaves  long  years  ago. 
When  a  maiden  lightly  whispered  that  the  little 

Jacqueminot 
Held  within  its  ruby  petals  all  the  love-warmth 

of  her  heart. 
While  I  gently  kissed  her  temple,  saying  sadly, 

"  We  must  part." 

Now  thy  lone  leaves,  brown  and  crumpled,  faint- 

ly-odored,  faded  lie, 
Breathing  softly,   "List  thou,   lover!     Love  i& 

rose-like.    It  must  die !  " 

Seymour  Ransom,  '92. 


NOAH  WEBSTEP  AT  AMHERST. 

When  Amherst  College  remodelled  and  en- 
larged her  library  building,  like  a  wise  mother, 
she  had  respect  to  the  future.  The  book-stack 
was  made  large  enough  for  years  to  come,  and 
the  two  upper  stories  are  still  devoted  to  miscel- 
laneous uses.  The  white  walls,  enclosing  the 
white  and  empty  shelves,  made  more  staring  and 
ghastly  by  the  light  that  streams  over  them  from 
the  uncurtained"  skylight,  all  make  a  sort  of  se- 
pulchre in  which  are  entombed  old  portraits  of 
the  faculty,  old  pictures  of  the  town  and  of  the 
college  buildings,  and  other  similar  lumber 
which  just  escapes  being  rubbish  because  of  the 
memories  that  hang  about  the  motley  collection. 

Among  these  objects  of  forgotten  worth  is  the 
bust  of  Xoah  Webster,  which  is  represented  on 
the  following  page.  There  could  hardly  be  any- 
thing more  typical  of  the  sad  obscurity  that 
seems  to  have  shrouded  the  memorj'^  of  Noah 
Webster's  life  in  Amherst.  Few  of  the  students 
in  the  College  know  that  he  ever  lived  in  the  vil- 
lage at  all.  Many  of  the  townsfolk  are  unaware 
that  he  was  once  one  of  Amherst's  most  loyal 
and  active  citizens.  His  personality  seems  to 
have  been  lost  in  the  expanse  of  the  Dictionary, 
and  the  changes  and  revisions  of  the  book  have 


BUST  OF  NOAH  WEBSTER. 


NOAH    WEBSTER  AT  AMHERST.  39 

blurred  the  fame  of  the  first  American  lexicog- 
rapher. Mr.  Scudder's  interesting  "  Life  of  Xoah 
Webster"  was  published  in  1883,  but  according 
to  the  record  of  the  College  librarian,  I  was  the 
first  one  to  call  for  the  book,  and  even  this  call 
is  dated  April,  1896,  thirteen  years  after  the 
biography  was  printed. 

Still,  the  book  called  "  Webster's  Dictionary  " 
perpetuates  in  a  general  and  somewhat  indefinite 
way  the  fame  of  its  first  author,  and  Amherst  is 
proud  of  the  fact  that  tnis  famous  scholar  has 
intimate  relation  to  the  village  and  to  the  College. 
He  came  here  in  181 2,  nine  years  before  the  Col- 
lege was  founded,  bought  a  house  with  several 
acres  of  land  about  it,  and  settled  down  to  com- 
plete his  great  book.  His  house  stood  where  Kel- 
logg's  Block  is  now  situated,  and  there  were  no 
houses  east  of  that  in  the  same  neighborhood.  He 
planted  a  large  apple  orchard  immediately  about 
his  dwelling,  and  the  land  beyond  remained  as 
meadow.  Some  of  the  trees  which  he  planted 
are  still  standing  back  of  Mr.  E.  F.  Cook's  house, 
and  the  scythe  still  cuts  its  swath  over  the  fields 
which  he  mowed. 

He  came  to  Amherst  from  Xew  Haven,  where 
he  had  spent  six  years  in  such  devoted  labor  on 
the  Dictionary  that  his  purse  had  run  low  in 
proportion  to  the  height  of  his  enthusiasm.  He 
was  nominally  a  lawyer,  but  the  law  had  been 
neglected.  Dr.  Trumbull  of  Hartford,  speaking 
of  this  neglect,  said:  "I   fear  he  will   breakfast 


40  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

Upon  Institutes,  dine  upon  Dissertations,  and 
go  supperless  to  bed."  He  had  one  source  of 
support,  so  far  as  it  went.  His  Spelling  Book, 
then  of  great  reputation,  and  soon  after  of  na- 
tional renown,  yielded  him  half  a  cent  a  copy, 
and  was  in  so  great  demand  as  to  produce  a 
small  income.  He  came  to  Amherst  because  he 
found  the  village  to  be  of  such  primitive  manners 
and  refined  society  as  suited  his  means  and  his 
tastes.  As  a  writer  says  in  the  Amherst  Rec- 
ord of  September  24,  1879.  "  On  the  profits  of 
the  Spelling  Book  he  supported  the  family  in 
the  orchard  while  he  made  the  Dictionary  and 
planned  for  the  foundation  of  Amherst  College. 
But  before  all  this  he  had  married  a  pretty  wife, 
and  this  beautiful  wife  and  his  attractive  daugh- 
ters took  the  lead  in  the  refined  society  of  the 
town.  He  mowed  the  little  hay  crop  of  his 
grounds  and  his  daughters  raked  the  hay  and 
afterwards  married  the  most  elegant  scholars  of 
the  country."  For  ten  years  he  thus  lived  and 
worked  in  Amherst;  then  leaving  his  family  in 
New  Haven,  he  went  to  Europe,  and  in  Cam- 
bridge, England,  wrote  the  last  word  of  his  book, 
in  1825.  His  life's  work  was  done,  and  in  a  let- 
ter to  Dr.  Miner  he  says :  "  When  I  arrived  at 
the  last  word  I  was  seized  with  a  tremor  that 
made  it  difficult  to  proceed.  I,  however,  sum- 
moned up  strength  to  finish  the  work,  and  then, 
walking  about  the  room,  I  soon  recovered." 
On  his  return  home  he  published  at  his  own 


NOAH    WEBSTER  A  T  AMHERST.  41 

expense,  in  1828,  the  first  quarto  edition,  which 
was  sold  by  subscription.  In  1840-41  he  pub- 
Hshed  a  second  edition,  which  contained  revis- 
ions and  corrections.  Three  thousand  copies 
were  printed,  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  fifteen 
hundred  were  still  unsold.  After  his  death,  in 
1843,  Messrs.  J.  S.  &  C.  Adams,  publishers  and 
booksellers  in  Amherst,  bought  the  remaining 
copies  and  the  right  to  publish  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  unexpired  copyright  period. 
They  printed  no  more,  and  soon  sold  all  their 
interest  to  G.  &  C.  Merriam,  the  predecessors  of 
the  present  G.  &  C.  Merriam  Company.  In  more 
than  one  way,  therefore,  Amherst  was  related  to 
the  Dictionary,  and  in  her  beauty,  quiet,  refine- 
ment and  simplicity  was  the  fit  environment  for 
the  scholar  and  his  book. 

But  Noah  Webster  was  more  than  a  secluded 
resident  of  the  town.  He  was  unusually  alive 
to  all  the  interests  of  the  village,  prominent  in 
her  public  life,  in  the  care  of  her  educational  in- 
stitutions, and  in  personal  labor  for  the  church. 
He  was  one  of  the  trustees  of  the  Amherst  Acad- 
emy, and  was  foremost  in  influence  as  well  as  in 
earnestness  in  establishing  Amherst  College  on 
the  foundation  of  the  old  Academy.  Indeed, 
among  all  those  who  labored  for  the  foundation 
of  our  Alma  Mater,  there  was  probably  at  that 
time  no  one  so  widely  known  as  Noah  Webster, 
through  his  philological  writing  and  extensive 
lecturing.     Indeed,  the  others  were  comparative- 


42  AN  AMHERST  BOOK'. 

ly  unknown,  so  the  writer  already  quoted  is  not 
far  from  right  when  he  says:  "  It  is  probable 
that  if  that  great  dictionary  had  not  been  made 
in  Amherst,  the  College  would  never  have  been 
built."  With  nice  appropriateness,  therefore, 
Noah  Webster  gave  one  of  the  two  addresses  at 
the  laying  of  the  cornerstone  of  the  first  college 
building. 

Let  us,  therefore,  brush  the  dust  from  ofT  the 
almost  forgotten  bust  while  we  proudly  remem- 
ber that  Amherst  village  and  Amherst  College 
are  intimately  associated  with  the  memory  and 
renown  of  the  first  great  American  lexicograph- 
er. 

H.   Humphrey  Neill,  '66. 


UNLOCKED. 

I  could  not  speak  what  yet  I  often  wished  to  say ; 

A  pretty  compliment  I'd  think,  but — puff,  away 

It  flew  on  wings,  before  I  gave  it  breath,  the 
while 

Another's  graceful  words  had  won  the  longed- 
for  smile. 

Then   lo,   a   miracle — no   warning,    forth    there 
rushed 

All  that  I  e'er  had  thought  of  grace,  and  Hps  had 
hushed. 

Devotion,  adoration,  nothing  left  to  seek. 

At  last  love  opened  wide  my  lips  and  let   me 
speak. 

Clyde  Fitch,  '86. 


THE  COLLEGE  BUILDINGS  IN  lo25. 

"  And  now  the  old  Chapel,  built  when  the 
College  was  struggling  for  its  charter,  and  em- 
bodying something  of  the  idea — just  behold  it 
from  its  western  front — meekly  looking  up, 
bravely  looking  out,  patiently  waiting  for  what- 
ever may  betide,  there  it  stands  between  those 
two  old  domitories  like  Moses  between  Aaron 
and  Hur,  the  day  that  he  fought  the  Amale- 
kites."  President  Stearns  in  his  address  of  wel- 
come at  the  fiftieth  anniversary  has  described 
the  old  Chapel  very  happily,  and  very  much  as  it 
must  always  appear  to  Amherst  men.  The  pic- 
ture fails  to  give  it  quite  the  right  expression, 
for  it  stands  guard  with  a  good  deal  of  dignity, 
as  if  conscious  of  a  grave  responsibility.  It 
seems  to  have  a  dim  suspicion,  too,  that  it  is  all 
out  of  style,  but  it  is  rather  proud  of  the  fact 
than  otherwise. 

Like  all  the  earlier  buildings  of  the  College, 
the  Chapel  was  erected  because  such  a  building 
became  absolutely  indispensable.  The  hall  in 
the  fourth  story  of  North  College  was  hopelessly 
inadequate  as  a  chapel,  and  the  College  was  suf- 
fering for  lack  of  recitation  rooms.  In  view  of 
the .  financial  condition  of  the  institution,  the 
legacy  of  Adam  Johnson,  of  Pelham,  came  like 


46  ^A'  AMHERST  BOOK. 

a  gcdsend;  for  though  it  covered  only  a  part  of 
the  expense  of  the  building,  it  warranted  the 
trustees  in  attempting  to  raise  enough  to  com- 
plete the  work. 

The  original  arrangement  of  rooms  was  very 
much  as  it  is  at  present.  On  the  first  floor  were 
recitation  rooms  for  Greek  and  Latin,  and  two 
for  mathematics.  On  the  second  floor,  besides 
the  chapel  proper,  were  the  theological  and 
rhetorical  rooms,  since  throw'n  together  to  form 
the  small  chapel.  The  room  on  the  third  floor 
was  used  for  the  College  library,  which  was 
moved  over  from  its  former  place  in  North  Col- 
lege, and  for  the  libraries  of  the  Alexandrian 
and  Athenian  Societies. 

In  the  early  days  morning  prayers  were  held 
at  daybreak.  To  the  tune  of  the  relentless  Chapel 
bell  the  poor  fellows  used  to  turn  out  in  the  cold, 
gray  dawm  of  a  winter's  morning — how  reluctant- 
ly, we  who  hate  to  get  up  at  eight  o'clock  can 
well  imagine — and  rush  up  those  Chapel  stairs 
"  half  dressed  and  less  than  half  aw-ake,"  just  as 
the  three  sharp  clangs  announced  that  the  last 
minute  of  grace  had  expired.  After  chapel  they 
would  lag,  still  breakfastless,  to  the  first  recita- 
tion, with  an  appetite,  we  surmise,  for  something 
besides  learning. 

It  must  have  been  this  mode  of  life  that  made 
the  students  play  such  unaccountable  pranks. 
For  instance,  by  way  of  doing  something  orig- 
inal, or  else  merelv  for  the  sake  of  a  little  diver- 


THE  COLLEGE  BUILDINGS  IiV  1828.  47 

sion,  a  number  of  students  from  one  of  the 
classes  in  the  thirties  lugged  a  calf  up  to  the  top 
of  the  Chapel  tower,  left  him  to  enjoy  the  view, 
and  went  to  morning  prayers.  The  calf  soon 
wearied  of  the  landscape,  and  began  in  his  vig- 
orous bovine  way  to  proclaim  the  fact  to  the 
neighborhood.  To  make  the  story  short,  the 
College  janitor  and  two  assistants  spent  a  good 
part  of  the  morning  in  getting  the  beast  down. 

The  view  from  the  Chapel  tower  is  one  of  the 
rare  perquisites  of  the  student  at  Amherst.  The 
green  Connecticut  valley  stretches  out  like  a 
great  garden  in  every  direction  from  the  foot  of 
College  Hill — itself  a  garden — and  is  hedged  in 
on  the  four  sides  by  those  great  hills  that  are  so 
essential  a  part  of  Amherst,  and  seem  to  be  the 
special  property  of  Amherst  College.  The  hills 
are  jagged  and  picturesque  on  the  south;  round 
and  rolling  on  the  east;  on  the  north,  tall  and 
majestic;  and  the  Hampshire  hills  across  the 
broad  valley,  with  the  faint  blue  Berkshires  be- 
hind them,  seem  to  mark  the  western  boundary 
of  the  world. 

Old  North  College — old  in  distinction  from 
the  present  North  College,  which  was  known  a& 
Middle  College  while  (^Id  North  was  standing — 
was  completed  in  the  winter  of  1828.  It  was 
pleasanter  and  more  convenient  than  the  others, 
except  the  rooms  on  the  north  side,  where  the 
sun  never  came.  The  erection  of  this  building 
started  the  movement  for  grading  the   College 


48  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

grounds.  In  the  poverty  of  the  College  the  stu- 
dents took  hold  of  this  work  with  a  will,  as  op- 
portunity ofiFered,  and  sometimes  the  College  in 
a  body  devoted  a  half  or  whole  day  to  the  work. 
The  terraces  in  front  of  South  College  were 
made  almost  entirely  by  the  students.  This  same 
spirit  manifested  by  the  students  was  also  re- 
sponsible, at  about  this  time,  for  an  improvised 
gymnasium  in  the  College  grove,  and  for  the 
College  band,  which  performed  on  all  suitable 
occasions.  The  accompanying  cut  does  not  rep- 
resent the  improvements  in  the  way  of  grading, 
because  it  is  taken  from  a  somewhat  fanciful 
sketch,  made  before  old  North  College  was  built, 
and  intended  to  show  how  the  "  Chapel  Row  " 
would  look  when  completed  as  first  planned. 
This  accounts  for  the  presence  of  the  dormitory 
on  the  right,  which  was  never  erected.  Some 
years  afterwards,  however,  Appleton  Cabinet  was 
built  on  that  spot,  and  carried  out  the  original 
conception  of  a  symmetrical  college  row  of  five 
buildings.  The  little  cabin  at  the  extreme  left, 
on  the  site  of  the  present  Hitchcock  Hall,  was 
occupied  by  a  family  of  negroes  until  about  1840. 

Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97. 


SENATE  POLITICS. 

Harper  had  come  back  to  visit  his  Alma  Mater. 
He  had  experienced  all  the  delights  of  seeing 
again  his  old  haunts;  had  strengthened  him- 
self with  a  draught  from  the  College  well;  had 
climbed  the  Chapel  tower  to  look  once  more  at 
the  fair  valley  of  the  Connecticut  and  its  setting 
of  green  hills,  as  it  stretches  in  every  direction 
around  the  knoll  from  which  Amherst's  sons 
"  terras  irradient;  "  then  had  mounted  the  three 
flights  of  stairs  that  led  to  the  rooms  at  the  top 
of  the  "  Old  South  "  dormitory,  where  he  and 
"  Reggie  "  Thompson  had  lived  as  mates ;  and 
now  sat  there  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  under- 
graduates. 

The  talk  had  turned  to  the  stand  of  the  faculty 
on  the  Senate  question,  the  boys  being  highly  in- 
dignant at  W'hat  they  characterized  as  the  arbi- 
trary measures  that  had  been  taken. 

Similar  discussions  of  his  college  days  came 
back  in  memory  to  the  alumnus.  He  thought  es- 
pecially of  those  long  and  bitter  conferences  held 
in  this  same  room  at  the  time  of  what  they  had 
afterwards  titled  ''  Reggie's  escapade."  And 
soon  the  boys  were  listening  to  the  story. 

"  It  happened  my  Sophomore  year.  My  room- 
mate, Reginald  Thompson,  also  of  my  class,  fell 
under  suspicion  of  being  concerned  in  a  hazing 


so  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

scrape.  This  was  the  way  it  came  about.  There 
was  a  Freshman — unbearably  green — -as  there  al- 
ways is.  There  were  also  Sophomores  anxious 
to  remedy  the  evil,  who  waylaid  him  one  night 
and  put  him  through  some  pretty  stiff  paddling. 
Having  been  seized  from  behind  he  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  but  one  of  his  tormentors,  and  this 
one  he  afterwards  asserted  was  Reginald  Thomp- 
son. Now,  in  the  midst  of  the  fun,  the  night- 
watchman,  attracted  by  Freshie's  yells,  appeared 
on  the  scene.  The  Sophs  fled,  and  as  they  hur- 
ried over  Chapel  Hill  the  watchman  saw  them 
brush  past  some  one,  with  bag  in  hand,  hurry- 
ing toward  the  train. 

"  The  Freshman  reported  the  hazing,  and  Reg- 
gie was  accused  of  being  the  ringleader.  Of 
course  he  denied  the  charge ;  but  he  had  been  out 
somewhere  that  night  and  could  not  prove  an 
alibi,  so  his  case  indeed  looked  hopeless. 

"  I  remember,  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  the  con- 
ference we  held  up  here  at  that  time,  trying  to 
devise  some  method  of  exonerating  him.  The 
Senate  was  then  in  full  working  order,  and  we 
had  carefully  sounded  each  member,  only  to  find 
that,  when  Reggie  should  come  before  that  body, 
the  chances  were  for  a  close  vote,  and  we  feared 
against  him.  One  senator  from  our  own  class, 
however,  was  still  to  be  chosen.  It  remained  foi 
us  to  put  in  a  friend. 

■' '  Townsend  is  our  man,'  decided  MacMas- 
ter,  the  class  president.     '  Now  you  fellows  just 


52  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

hustle  round  and  get  votes.  Fraternity  deals  are 
poor  tactics,  but  don't  you  stop  for  anything  this 
time.  We  ought  to  get  the  Theta  Epsilons  and 
the  Beta  Gammas  in  a  body,  and  a  good  share  of 
the  Oudens.  That  man  Borden  is  expecting  to 
run,  and  if  he  is  elected,  Reggie  here  might  as 
well  "  pack  up  and  git  "  right  away.' 

'''Amen,'  chimed  in  Reggie;  'Borden  and  I 
are  no  chums.' 

"  Next  day  came  the  class  meeting.  Not  a 
member  was  absent,  excepting  Reggie.  The  fel- 
lows disapproved  of  the  hazing,  and  they  meant 
to  vote  as  they  believed  justice  required.  Bor- 
den managed  to  come  in  late,  just  as  MacMas- 
ter  was  calling  for  order,  and  some  of  his  ad- 
herents started  a  little  boom  for  him  by  way  of 
applause.  He  was  a  man  of  striking  appearance 
— square-shouldered,  with  a  large  head,  deep-set 
eyes,  and  a  continual  smirk  about  his  mouth. 
He  was  leader  of  a  certain  set  in  the  class,  and 
had  considerable  influence.  We  knew  he  was 
no  weak  opponent.  : 

'  The  election   was  very  close.     Only  Town-^:^ 
send  and  Borden  were  nominated.     The  prelim- 
inary ballot  was  two  or  three  votes  in  our  favor.  _, 
A  motion  that  it  be  declared  formal  was  lost.  ' 
And  then,  when  the  formal  vote  was  cast,  some 
of  our  adherents  had  gone  over,  and  Borden  was  . 
elected.    Oh,  we  were  mad !    Yet  there  was  noth- 
ing left  us  but  to  wait  for  the  result  of  the  Senate 
miceting. 


SENATE    POLITICS.  53 

"  That  was  held  in  the  evening,  and  I  was  pres- 
ent as  a  witness.  No  new  facts  were  brought  out. 
So  they  went  into  secret  session,  and  we  were 
requested  to  remain  outside. 

"  Now,  some  men  in  Reggie's  circumstances 
would  have  shown  a  boastful  indifiference  in  the 
attempt  to  prove  their  manliness.  But  he  was 
sensitive,  and  dreaded  his  father's  disappointment 
and  reproach.  He  was  patient,  however,  and 
after  a  tedious  wait  the  door  of  the  President's 
office  was  opened  by  Borden,  who,  with  an  un- 
usual smirk,  said :  '  The  culprit  is  summoned  to 
reappear.' 

"  We  followed  him  in,  Reggie  compressing  his 
lips  in  the  effort  at  composure  as  he  faced  the 
President,  who  stood  at  the  further  end  of  the 
long  table. 

"  'Mr.  Thompson,  the  Senate  has  decided  that 
you  shall  suffer  the  penalty  of  expulsion  for  the 
hazing  of  which  you  have  been  accused.  You 
are  forbidden  to  attend  further  exercises  or  reci- 
tations of  the  College.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you 
privately  at  my  house  in  half  an  hour.' 

"  That  was  all.  Reggie  turned  to  go,  when  a 
loud  knock  stopped  him,  and  immediately  our 
class  president  entered,  followed  by  an  upper- 
classman.  MacMaster  was  almost  bubbling  over 
with  something  new,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  the 
President's  attention  he  asked  if  fresh  evidence 
might  be  introduced. 

"  '  Certainly,  if  it  has  important  bearing  upon 


54  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

the  case,'  replied  the  President;  then  adding: 
*  Mr.  Thompson,  you  will  wait  a  minute,  please/ 

"  The  upper-classman  then  stepped  forward 
and  explained  how  he  had  just  returned  to  town 
and  learned  of  the  hazing;  that  he  had  left  Am- 
herst on  the  night  it  occurred;  that  he  was,  in 
fact,  the  man  with  the  bag,  whom  the  culprits 
had  nearly  stumbled  on  as  they  ran  from  the 
watchman. 

"  '  I  recognized  but  one  of  the  men,'  he  con- 
cluded. '  However,  I  have  known  Mr.  Thomp- 
son by  sight,  and  I  feel  certain  that  he  was  not 
among  them.' 

"  You  can  imagine  how  we  grasped  at  this  new 
testimony.  Even  the  President  and  senators 
looked  relieved,  for  Reggie  was  a  popular  man, 
and  they  had  assumed  the  responsibility  of  ex- 
pelling him  on  mere  circumstantial  evidence.  As 
I  glanced  around  the  table  to  see  the  result  of 
this  unexpected  turn,  I  caught  a  fierce  gleam  in 
Borden's  eyes.    The  smirk  had  disappeared. 

"  The  President  then  began  to  question  the 
new  witness.  '  You  have  said  that  Mr.  Thomp- 
son was  not  among  the  men  who  passed  you  that 
night,  but  that  you  did  recognize  one  of  the 
party.    Will  you  give  us  his  name?' 

"  '  The  man  is  fortunately  present  to  contra- 
dict me  if  my  accusation  is  false;'  and,  with  a 
gesture,  '  It  was — ' 

"  '  Quiet,  you  fool! '  yelled  Borden,  leaping  to 
his  feet.     '  Gentlemen,  allow  me!     It  was  your 


SENA  TE  POLITICS.  55 

most  humble  servant!  And,  that  the  ends  of 
justice  may  more  quickly  be  attained,  I  shall 
sever  my  connection  with  Amherst  College  with- 
out requiring  the  formality  of  any  mandate  from 
this  most  illustrious  and  august  body.  For  I 
feel  that,  representing— as  you  do — nothing  but 
an  impracticable  theory,  I  have  now  the  honor 
of  addressing  the  most  farcical  body  that  ever 
pretended  to  administer  the  balm  of  justice — 
gentlemen  of  the  Amherst  College  Senate! '  " 

His  story  done,  Harper  settled  back  into  his 
chair  and  relit  his  cigar. 

"  You  know,"  he  finally  broke  the  silence, 
"  there  have  been  several  pessimists  among  Am- 
herst's alumni,  who,  when  I  have  recounted  those 
words  of  Borden's,  have  openly  agreed  with  him. 
They  have  maintained  that  the  Senate — all  very 
nice  as  a  theor)- — was  yet  impracticable  and  ab- 
surd. But  you  see  that  sun  setting  behind  the 
Berkshire  hills;  you  see  the  peaceful  valley 
spread  out  below;  and  above,  the  quarter-moon, 
promising  a  perfect  night!  The  idea  of  the  Am- 
herst Senate  sprang  from  a  mind  tuned  to  har- 
monies such  as  these,  and  they  remain  to  prove 
that  the  ideal  has  its  influence  on  our  lives,  how- 
ever intangible  be  its  immediate  results." 

Alfred  Roelker,  Jr.,  '95. 


THE  COLLEGE  WELL. 

"  And  David  longed  and  said,  Oh  that  one  would 
give  me  drink  of  the  water  of  the  well.  *  *  *  II. 
Samuel,  23:15. 

The  writer  has  been  unable  to  secure  evidence 
that  David  ever  played  harp  for  an  Amherst 
musical  organization,  or  indeed  thaV  he  ever 
walked  our  halls  as  a  student  of  cube  and  Greek 
roots,  and  yet  he  has  thus  expressed  what  has 
frequently  been  the  yearning  of  Amherst  grads. 
in  moments  of  reverie  and  reminiscence. 

The  well?  Yes,  for  us  it  is  the  well;  just  as  for 
Italians  Rome  was  the  city;  and  for  terrestrials 
the  blazing  ball  that  makes  day,  rather  than  some 
of  the  more  distant  orbs,  is  the  sun.  As  regards 
well-worship  we  are  eternally,  relentlessly  mono- 
theistic, and  cry  out  with  true  Ephesian  vehe- 
mence, "  There  shall  be  no  other  wells  before 
It!  "  If  there  is  an  assertion  whose  absolute  cer- 
tainty we  are  willing  to  champion  against  the 
scoffings  of  skeptics  and  the  loud-mouthed  bray- 
ings  of  meddlesome  science,  it  is  that  the  water 
of  the  College  well  forms  for  us  the  sweetest  com- 
pound of  hydrogen  and  oxygen  that  evei 
touched  human  lips.  Does  some  hard-hearted 
chemist  discover  that  it  fairly  wriggles  with  bac- 
teria?   We  care  not,  and  will  defend  the  discov- 


58  AjV  AMHERST  BOOK. 

ered  brand  of  bacteria  as  the  fattest,  juiciest  and 
most  palatable  on  the  market.  It  is  not  for  tlv: 
wholesomeness,  or  quantity,  or  purity,  or  frigid- 
ity of  the  water  from  the  College  well  that  we  are 
contending,  but  solely  for  its  incomparable 
sweetness.  We  freely  admit  that  much  of  this 
sweetness  may  be  subjective  sensation.  The  gist 
of  the  matter  is,  we  are  in  love  with  the  well,  and 
whoever  heard  of  Romeo's  discoursing  with  ju- 
dicial impartiaHty  upon  the  curve  of  Juliet's  chin? 
The  love  which  a  grad.  holds  for  the  old  well  is 
but  the  apotheosis  of  undergraduate  friendship. 
If,  as  Burton  says,  "  a  friend  is  a  medicine  for 
misery,"  surely  the  well  has  a  strong  lien  upon 
that  title.  After  a  tongue-parching  tramp  along 
the  Holyoke  range  with  botanic  malice  afore- 
thought, or  a  rock-smashing  expedition  to  Pel- 
ham,  or  a  search  after  the  elusive  arbutus  among 
the  thickets  of  Pizgah,  what  liquid  satisfaction  we 
have  gulped  down  beneath  that  peaked  roof, 
reading  the  while  inscriptions  commerical,  ath- 
letic, and  personal!  How  enjoyably  the  wind- 
lass squeaked  and  the  chain  clanked  as  we 
coaxed  the  bucket  downward  into  the  rippling 
coolness!  How  the  distant  gurgling  soothed  us 
as  we  waited  for  the  tightening  of  the  chain, 
which  told  that  all  was  ready  for  the  up-trip! 
And  when  with  spasmodic  bursts  of  speed  the 
bucket  finally  appeared  from  the  gloomy  depths, 
meanwhile  dripping  of  its  burden — for  the  great- 
hearted old  pail  always  tried  to  bring  up  more 


THE  COLLEGE   WELL.  59 

than  it  could  carry — when  with  a  satisfied  bump 
the  stone  settled  down  on  the  floor,  and  there 
before  us, 

"  With  beaded  bubbles  winking  at  tlie  brim," 
was  a  bucket  of  refreshment  worthy  of  the 
Olympians  themselves,  how  we  have  longed  for  a 
poet  to  celebrate  our  old  well  in  grateful  song! 
Unhappily  a  college  curriculum  is  not  productive 
of  Pindars  and  Horaces,  else  we  could  say  to  our 
fount  what  the  Sabine  farmer  said  to  his  famous 
Fons  Bandusiae: 

"  Fies  nobilium  tu  quoque  fontium." 
Whether  thou  findest  thy  Horace  or  not,  dear 
old  well,  have  no  fear.  In  our  memory's  temple 
thou  shalt  have  a  shrine  by  no  means  the  least. 
Often  the  cry  of  David  will  voice  itself  in  our 
hearts;  and  if  a  draught  of  thy  waters  were  ob- 
tainable at  no  less  a  price,  who  shall  say  but  that 
we  would  undergo  even  the  sacrifice  that  Odin 
made  for  a  drink  of  Mimir's  well  beneath  the  ash 
tree,  Igdrasil? 

Herbert  A.  Jump,  '96. 


AMHEI^ST  rirTY  YEARS  AGO. 

Amherst  in  1845,  when  I  entered  college,  was 
very  different  from  the  Amherst  of  to-day.  It 
was  no  less  beautiful  for  situation,  and  its  ram- 
part of  mountains  was  a  perpetual  delight  to  the 
eye,  as  now;  but  the  town  was  an  ordinary  coun- 
try village,  the  streets  poorly  kept,  the  green  un- 
graded and  uncared  for,  no  churches  or  other 
public  buildings  that  were  not  eyesores — a  mem- 
ber of  the  faculty  described  the  Congregational 
Church  as  "  a  cross  between  a  dog-kennel  and 
a  cotton  factory," — and  few  private  houses  except 
of  the  plainest  New  England  type.  In  the  spring, 
when  the  frost  was  coming  out  of  the  ground, 
the  student  had  to  wade  through  mud  ankle-deep 
in  going  from  the  College  to  his  meals.  We  used 
to  talk  of  "  excavating  our  boots  "  after  a  tramp 
in  that  mud. 

The  nearest  railroad  station  was  at  Northamp- 
ton, whither  daily  coaches  ran,  as  also  to  Palmer 
and  Brookfield.  The  College  buildings  were  the 
old  chapel,  with  south,  middle  (now  north),  and 
north  dormitories. 

The  fortunes  of  the  College  were  then  at  their 
lowest  ebb.  The  whole  number  of  students  in 
1845-46  was  118,  the  smallest  since  1822-23,  the 
second  year  of  its  history.    In  1846-47  the  num- 


AMHERST  FIFTY    YEARS  AGO.  6i 

ber  was  120.  During  these  two  years  there  were 
only  nine  persons  in  the  facuky.  How  poorly 
they  were  paid  Professor  Tyler  has  told  us  in  his 
History,  But  they  worked  with  no  less  zeal  and 
l>aticnce  early  and  late — literally  early,  for  in 
those  days  we  had  morning  pray^ers  and  an  hour's 
lecitation  before  breakfast,  which  came  at  half 
past  seven. 

Discipline  was  sufiliciently  strict.  For  a  stu- 
dent to  take  a  quiet  walk  on  a  Sunday  out  of 
church  hours  might  be  winked  at,  but  one  must 
not  be  seen  driving  for  recreation  between  the 
sunsets  of  Saturday  and  Sunday,  the  limits  of 
holy  time  in  college  reckoning. 

Hazing,  however,  seemed  to  be  regarded  by 
the  authorities  as  a  necessary  evil.  I  do  not 
know  that  any  effort  was  made  to  punish  or  sup- 
press it.  It  was  generally  of  a  harmless  sort,  but 
sometimes  a  Freshman  who  forgot  his  proper 
position — from  a  Sophomoric  point  of  view* — 
was  treated  with  exceptional  severity.  For  my- 
self, I  lived  in  constant  dread  of  hazing,  but  was 
the  victim  of  it  only  twice.  I  roomed  on  the 
ground  floor  of  South  College,  northeast  cor- 
ner, and  while  engaged  in  study  one  evening  was 
hit  in  the  back  of  the  neck  by  a  two-quart  jug 
which  came  crashing  through  the  w-indow.  If  its 
trajectory  had  varied  a  few  inches  I  doubt 
whether  my  skull  would  have  stood  the  blow. 

On  the  other  occasion  1  suffered  in  company 
with  the  entire  class.     The  Freshmen  had  been 


62  A.V  AMHERST  BOOK. 

invited  to  an  evening  reception  at  the  Presi- 
dent's house,  and  when  we  returned  to  our  rooms 
wc  found  every  keyhole  plugged  with  wood. 
Thereby  hangs  a  tale.  It  was  the  first  year  of 
President  Hitchcock's  administration.  His  pred- 
ecessor in  office  had  given  receptions  to  the 
Seniors,  possibly  to  the  Juniors — I  am  not  sure 
about  that — but  never  to  the  lower  classes.  Pres- 
ident Hitchcock  began  with  the  Seniors,  and  the 
next  week  he  entertained  the  Juniors.  They  ex- 
ulted in  the  honor  done  them,  and  told  their  So- 
phomore friends  that  perhaps  another  year  they 
could  go  to  a  "  Prex's  party."  But  the  Sopho- 
mores had  to  wait  only  a  week  before  they  were 
asked  to  the  Presidential  mansion.  Here  every- 
body supposed  the  series  of  entertainments  would 
end,  and  the  Sophs  plumed  themselves  accord- 
ingly. Of  course  they  were  disgusted  when  the 
Freshmen  were  similarly  honored  a  week  later, 
and  they  wreaked  their  spite  upon  us  by  the  key- 
hole trick. 

In  1845  there  were  but  two  secret  societies  at 
Amherst — Alpha  Delta  Phi  and  Psi  Upsilon. 
Delta  Kappa  Epsilon  was  introduced  in  1846, 
and  Delta  Upsilon  in  1847.  The  non-society  men 
were  in  the  majority,  and  in  1846  they  formed 
an  anti-secret  society,  whose  motto  was  "Oiiden 
addon "  (nothing  secret).  A  Psi  Upsilon  man 
wittily  perverted  this,  by  a  slight  metathesis,  into 
"  Oudena  delon,'"  which  he  rendered  in  the  ver- 
nacular as  "  evidentlv  nobodv."    The  members  of 


AMHERST  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO.  63 

this  society  were  familiarly  known  as  "  Oiidcns." 
Tiiere  were  many  non-society  men  who  did  not 
sympathize  with  them,  but  the  "  Oudens  "  occa- 
sionally managed  to  carry  an  election  of  officers 
in  one  of  the  two  general  literary  societies  to 
which  all  the  students  belonged.  Seelye  was 
President  of  Academia  (one  of  these  societies), 
and  when  his  term  of  office  expired  one  of  the 
poorest  scholars  in  the  class  was  elected  in  his 
place.  Seelye  was  so  indignant  that  he  declined 
to  give  the  customary  "  Ex-Presidential "  ad- 
dress, which  he  had  prepared.    A  certain  Psi  Up- 

silon  man  remarked  that  "  from  Seelye  to 

was  a  veritable  dcscensits  Avcrni."  "  Yes,''  said 
another,  with  a  free  translation  of  the  Latin,  "  a 
h —  of  a  descent,  indeed  I  " 

What  were  our  amusements?  Few  and  simple, 
as  a  rule.  The  only  gymnasium  we  had  was  the 
grove  behind  Middle  College,  where  was  a  swing, 
a  vaulting  horse,  a  set  of  parallel  bars,  and  a 
track  for  foot-racing  round  the  edge  of  the  grove. 
A  kind  of  cricket  known  as  "  wicket  "  was  played, 
and  "  loggerheads,"  a  game  which  I  never  saw 
anywhere  else,  but  which  was  identical  with 
Shakespeare's  "  loggats "  (Hamlet,  v.,  i,  100). 
Baseball  had  not  been  developed  out  of  the  ju- 
venile "  round-ball,"  nor  had  tennis  been  revived 
after  centuries  of  desuetude.  Tramps  to  Hol- 
yoke,  Northampton,  Sugarloaf,  and  elsewhere  in 
the  vicinity,  were  favorite  recreations  with  most 
of  us.    Requests  for  leave  to  go  to  South  Hadley 


64  AN  AM  HERS  T  BOOK. 

were  viewed  with  suspicion  by  the  faculty.  A 
friend  in  one  of  the  upper  classes  was  engaged 
to  a  girl  in  the  Seminary  there  whose  name  was 
Mann.  When  he  asked  leave  to  go  thither  the 
professor  inquired  whether  he  was  going  to  visit 
a  young  lady.  "  I  am  going  to  see  a  Mann,''  was 
the  reply,  but  the  capital  and  the  extra  conson- 
ant were  of  course  indistinguishable  to  the  of- 
ficial ear,  and  permission  was  granted  at  once. 

Student  pranks  were  not  unknown  in  those 
days,  but  they  were  generally  harmless  practical 
jokes;  like  enticing  a  calf  up  stairs  in  a  dormi- 
tory and  tying  the  beast  to  a  tutor's  door-knob, 
or  leading  a  stray  horse  into  a  recitation-room 
just  before  the  professor  was  to  arrive.  Raids  on 
neighboring  orchards  sometimes  occurred,  and 
poultry  not  bought  of  the  regular  dealer  now  and 
then  furnished  forth  a  feast  in  a  student's  room. 
I  was  once  invited  to  such  a  supper  by  one  of  the 
best  scholars  in  the  class,  who  afterwards  became 
a  clergyman.  He  said  he  found  the  turkey  "  run- 
ning wild "  in  a  barnyard  at  North  Amherst. 
Festive  entertainments  of  this  kind,  however, 
were  rare  among  the  students.  This  was  the 
only  one  at  which  I  personally  "  assisted."  The 
unconventional  method  of  obtaining  the  main 
dish  for  the  supper  was  regarded  then,  as  before 
and  since  in  the  collegiate  code  of  morals,  as  a 
venial  offense. 

Aside  from  such  amusements  and  irregularities 
as  I  have  mentioned,  hard  work,  little  play,  and 


IN  MEMORIAM.  65 

no  dissipation  worthy  the  name,  were  the  rule 
at  Amherst  in  my  college  clays.  Hazing  was  the 
one  disgrace,  compared  with  which  the  pranks 
and  fooleries  I  have  referred  to  were,  to  my 
thinking,  "  pure  innocence." 

William  J.  Rolfe,  Litt.  D.,  49. 


IN  MEMOPlAi^. 

A  Puritan  was  dead  when  Seelye  died. 

A  Puritan,  indeed,  of  gentler  mould. 

Of  broader  mind  and  heart  than  those  of  old; 
Serene,  self-poised,  unshaken  by  the  tide 
Of  passion  or  of  faction.    Not  untried 

By  his  own  feet  the  pathway  long  and  bold 

He  bade  men  climb.     There  lay  his  strength: 
what  told 
Was  not  his  words,  but  he  behind  them.     Wide 
The  river  is  and  strong  from  such  a  source: 

The    mingling    streams    grow    purer    in    its 
course : 
The  cities  on  its  banks  are  noble,  free. 

Thy  sway.  New  England,  through  this  mighty 
land. 
So  long  as  sons  like  him  are  born  of  thee. 

Shall  be  maintained  with  firm,  unerring  hand? 

Henry  Wickes  Goodrich,  '80. 


AN  AMHERST  LEGEND. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  an  Indian  wizard, 
who  Uved  in  a  hut  where  Amherst  now  stands; 
and  he  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil  and  perished,  as 
did  Faust.  But  before  he  died  he,  through  his 
godfather,  the  Devil,  did  many  wicked  things, 
and  one  at  least  which  wrought  two  changes  in 
the  scenery  near  Amherst. 

THE  STORY  OF  MOUNT  WARNER. 

Many,  many  hundred  moons  ago,  before  a  tree 
had  been  felled  at  Hadley,  or  even  before  Boston 
Bay  had  seen  a  white  man's  ship,  an  Indian  girl 
lived  in  a  beautiful  spot  on  the  top  of  Sugarloaf; 
and  from  her  dwelling  she  could  look  at  all  the 
broad  valley  and  the  river  sparkling  and  danc- 
ing on  its  way  to  the  sea.  And  the  Indian  girl 
was  as  pretty  as  the  scene  at  which  she  looked — 
she  was  the  fairest  of  the  valley,  of  all  the  great 
valley  hemmed  in  by  the  mountains.  She  had  a 
lover  who  was  strong  and  handsome,  and  the 
son  of  a  chief;  and  she  had  another  lover — the 
old  Indian  wizard  who  had  sold  his  soul  to  the 
Devil. 

Now  Neanita — for  that  was  her  name — loved 
the  land  where  she  lived,  and  she  loved  to  sit  for 
hours  on  the  mountain,  looking  at  the  valley. 
In  the  morning  she  saw  it  grow  bright  and  rosy 


AN  AMHERST  LEGEND.  Oy 

under  the  sunrise,  and  sometimes  sparkle  with 
dew,  as  though  it  were  a  valley  of  diamonds.  At 
noon  she  watched  the  broad  river  roll  along  in  its 
slow  way,  and  at  evening  with  the  son  of  the 
chief  she  would  sit  and  see  the  moonlight  bathe 
the  land  in  white  and  pearl.  And  the  valley  was 
alwa3^s  brighter  when  Neanita  looked  at  it;  so 
that  even  now,  when  a  sunbeam  comes  down 
through  a  dark  day,  people  say  that  it  is  Nean- 
ita's  smile.  But  she  did  not  love  the  old  wizard, 
and  she  never  smiled  on  him;  so  in  those  days, 
when  the  sky  grew  black  and  the  mountains  rum-y 
bled  with  thunder,  the  people  knew  that  the  old 
wizard  was  angry  at  her,  and  they  trembled  in 
their  skin  tents.  But  the  Great  Manitou  looked 
down  and  smiled  on  it  all,  for  he  knew  that  good 
would  win. 

Every  evening  the  young  chief  came  from  his 
hunting  to  talk  with  Neanita  on  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  and  to  look  at  the  valley.  And  he  came 
from  the  north,  for  he  lived  beyond  the  moun- 
tains. One  evening  Neanita  sat  alone  on  the 
clifif,  and  before  her  was  the  valley  in  the  moon- 
light. She  waited  long,  but  there  was  no  wel- 
come sound  of  moccasins  on  the  grass  behind 
her.  The  moon  began  to  drop  in  the  sky  and  it 
grew  late.  The  stars  twinkled  down  and  laughed 
to  see  themselves  in  the  river,  but  they  pitied 
Neanita.  Far  behind  her  in  the  woods  she  heard 
a  grinding  noise;  she  thought  she  heard  the 
death   song,   and   she  listened.     And   while   she 


68  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

listened  the  sky  grew  dark  for  a  moment,  as 
though  some  great  bird  flew  over.  The  stars  and 
the  moon  were  hidden,  and  Xeanita  was  afraid. 
Then  all  was  bright  again,  and  down  in  the  broad 
meadows  before  her  was  sometliing  she  had 
never  seen  before.  There,  right  in  the  center  of 
the  valley,  lay  a  mountain  as  round  as  though 
it  were  some  great  warrior's  death  -  pile.  And 
she  did  not  know  what  it  was,  but  we  call  it 
Mount  Warner. 

That  day  the  wizard  had  been  angry,  and  the 
mountains  had  rumbled  much,  for  Neanita  had 
told  him  to  go,  because  she  loved  the  young 
chief.  The  wizard  sought  his  godfather,  the 
Devil,  and  that  evening,  as  the  son  of  the  chief 
was  climbing  the  long  ascent  of  Sugarloaf  and 
looking  at  the  stars  above  him,  he  was  lifted  in  the 
air  and  with  him  a  great  piece  taken  from  the 
mountain.  The  old  wizard  and  his  godfather, 
the  Devil,  in  this  way  made  the  Xotch  in  Sugar- 
loaf;  and  they  put  the  piece  down  in  the  center 
of  the  valley,  and  under  it  they  buried  the  young 
chief. 

And  if  you  now  visit  Mount  Warner  you  will 
find  a  beautiful  purple  flower  that  grows  on  the 
very  summit,  and  people  say  that  its  roots  are  in 
the  heart  of  the  young  chief.  The  Notch  is  still 
in  Sugarloaf.  The  place  that  they  call  "  Philip's 
Seat  "  is  not  the  seat  of  the  great  chief,  but  where 
Xeanita  sat  night  after  night  looking  at  the  val- 
ley and   waiting  for  that  lover  whom   she  saw 


FAIR  AMHERST.  69 

no  more.  And  if  at  midnight  you  sit  in  that  lofty 
nook  you  will  see  a  star  directly  above  you.  That 
star  is  the  soul  of  Neanita,  and  it  looks  forever 
at  the  purple  flower  of  Warner. 

Frederick  Houk  Law,  '95. 


rAIR  AMHERST. 

Fairest  of  all  the  fair, 

Pride  of  each  glorious  sun. 

Nobler  each  passing  year, 
Amherst  her  race  doth  run. 

Richest  of  all  the  rich 

In  Nature's  bovmteous  gifts; 

Throned  on  her  glorious  hill, 
She  many  a  storm-cloud  lifts. 

Proudest  of  all  the  proud 
From  sacred  learning's  halls 

Are  the  sons  whom  thou  hast  borne, 
Proud  of  thy  classic  walls! 

Fair  Amherst,  of  thee  we  sing! 

Rich  Amherst — in  Nature's  store ! 
Proud  Amherst,  thy  praise  shall  ring 

Till  time  shall  be  no  more! 

Frederick  W.  Raymond,  '99. 


AMHEPST  COMMENCEMENT  EIETY 
YEARS  AGO. 


During  the  first  decade  of  Amherst's  history 
the  public  literary  exercises  of  the  students  were 
confined  to  Commencement,  prize  speaking,  and 
an  annual  society  exhibition.  Of  these  the  Com- 
mencement exercises  have  continued,  with  some 
modification  and  melioration,  up  to  the  present 
time.  The  Kellogg  prize  speaking  began  in  1825, 
the  chartered  year  of  the  College,  and,  with  one 
exception,  has  been  held  annually  since.  The 
society  exhibitions  maintained  a  nomadic  exist- 
ence until  about  ten  years  ago. 

It  was  a  most  welcome  custom,  during  the  '30s, 
'40s  and  '50s  to  briug  in  on  Tuesday  of  Com- 
mencement week  one  or  two  of  the  most  eminent 
orators  the  country  could  aflford.  Edward  Ever- 
ett, Henry  Ward  Beecher  (who  himself  was  grad- 
uated from  Amherst  in  '34),  John  B.  Gough, 
Charles  Sumner,  Tayler  Lewis,  Dr.  Hickok,  Dr. 
Richard  Salter  Storrs,  class  of  '39.  and  Dr.  A.  P. 
Peabody  were  among  those  who  honored  our 
stage.  The  orators  were  invited  in  turn  by  the 
literary  societies — Athenae,  Alexandria  and  So- 


72  AjV  AMHERST  BOOK. 

cial  Union.  The  offices  of  president  and  marshal 
of  the  occasion  were  the  honors  of  the  Senior 
class,  and  sharp  political  work  was  done  to  se- 
cure these  positions. 

The  great  ambition  of  nearly  every  man  in  Col- 
lege was  to  win  an  "  appointment "  at  Com- 
mencement, and  it  did  stimulate  hard  and  suc- 
cessful study.  But,  oh!  the  heart-burnings  and 
destruction  of  hopes  when  the  standing  was  an- 
nounced! No  one  but  the  valedictorian  was  sat- 
isfied that  the  right  thing  had  been  done,  and 
each  man  thought  he  should  have  been  placed  a 
little  higher  on  the  scale.  More  than  one  grad- 
uate was  never  seen  again  on  the  Campus  after 
that  day,  because  of  dissatisfaction  with  his  stand- 
ing in  class. 

The  whole  community  manifested  a  deep  in- 
terest in  these  exercises,  crowding  the  church — 
now  College  Hall — to  every  corner,  and  listening 
attentively  to  a  programme  which  rarely  occupied 
less  than  five  hours,  and  that,  too,  in  the  early 
part  of  August.  The  only  light  and  diverting 
feature  of  these  exercises  was  occasionally  a 
"  Colloquy,"  with  costumes  and  scenic  fixtures. 
Music,  indoors  and  out,  was  furnished  by  a  brass 
band.  There  was  no  alumni  dinner  then,  but 
for  many  years  it  was  the  custom  to  serve  a  cold 
lunch  in  the  basement  of  College  Hall.  Never- 
theless, there  was  a  whole-hearted  interest  in 
these  occasions  which  has  not  been  manifested 
in  later  years.    Every  student  stayed  through  all 


COMMENCEMENT  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.       73 

the  exercises,  packed  up  after  the  festivities  of 
Commencement  night,  and  left  town  next  morn- 
ing by  early  or  extra  stage. 

One  imposing  spectacle  of  Commencement  day 
was  the  procession  about  town  and  to  the  church. 
At  9  o'clock  the  students  gathered  on  the  Chapel 
steps  and  soon  formed  in  line  behind  the  band, 
the  Freshmen  leading.  The  procession  marched 
down  Main  street  to  the  Amherst  House,  then 
turned  "  column  right "  toward  East  street. 
W^hen  the  rear  end  had  reached  the  hotel  a  halt 
was  made  to  give  the  band  a  chance  for  breath 
and  to  receive  the  Governor  of  the  Common- 
wealth, the  President,  trustees,  faculty,  the  orator 
of  the  day,  distinguished  guests  and  the  alumni — 
all  led  by  the  high  sheriflf  of  the  county  in  his 
blue  coat  and  brass  buttons.  Then  the  combined 
procession  moved  along  the  east  side  of  the  Com- 
mon, until  "  column  right  "  turned  the  line  across 
the  Common  and  up  to  the  front  of  the  church, 
where  the  head  of  the  procession  was  met  by  a 
dozen  constables,  carrying  black  staves  about  six 
feet  long.  Then  the  Freshn;en  made  open  order, 
marched  "  closed  up  "  to  the  middle  door,  took 
"  inward  face,"  and  shoulder  to  shoulder  uncov- 
ered; the  Sophomores,  Juniors  and  Seniors  ex- 
ecuting the  same  movements  in  order.  Then  the 
high  sheriff  led  the  distinguished  persons  up  be- 
tween the  lines  into  the  church.  The  Seniors 
followed  and  took  reserved  seats.  After  them  the 
Juniors  closed  in,  and  many  secured  good  places. 


74  AN  AMHERST  BOOK'. 

The  Sophomores  and  Freshmen  made  the  same 
attempt,  but  several  were  sure  to  find  only  stand- 
ing-room left.  The  galleries  were  "  reserved  ex- 
pressly for  ladies,"  and  no  women  were  allowed 
in  the  body  of  the  house.  The  galleries  were  al- 
ways full,  however,  and  no  men  were  allowed 
there,  save  the  ushers  and  "  skeddies,"  who  dis- 
tributed the  schedules ;  for  the  programme  of  the 
exercises  was  kept  a  secret  until  the  President 
proclaimed  "Schaemae  distribuantur,"  immedi- 
ately after  the  opening  prayer. 

Meantime,  outside  the  church,  a  motley  crowd 
was  making  a  pretense  to  gain  an  entrance,  but 
more  evidently  enjoying  a  friendly  push  and 
scramble  with  the  constables  and  their  black 
poles.  After  the  services  had  fairly  commenced, 
the  outside  crowd,  numbering  nearly  a  thousand 
people,  from  Pelham,  Shutesbury,  Hadley  and 
other  neighboring  towns,  repaired  to  the  Com- 
mon. Here,  during  the  previous  night,  tents  and 
booths  had  been  set  up,  where  were  offered  for 
sale  whips  and  other  trinkets,  oysters,  sweet  cider, 
candy,  gingerbread  and  other  edible  and  drink- 
able articles,  especially  "  mead,"  a  drink  now 
superseded  by  soda  and  vichy.  The  day  seldom 
closed  without  a  "  ring,"  in  which  was  to  be 
found  a  wrestling  match;  and  sometimes  a  small 
"  mill "  was  formed,  when  two  fellows  got  mad 
over  some  trifle,  and  could  not  be  satisfied  until 
they  had  pounded  each  other  for  a  few  minutes 


SIBERIAN  PAPERS.  75 

before  the  black  poles  of  the  constables  separated 
them. 

All  this  Commencement  crowd  vanished  about 
i860,  when  cattle  shows  and  county  fairs  were  in- 
stituted, and  one  of  the  salient  features  of  Am- 
herst Commencement  became  a  matter  of  history. 
Edward  Hitchcock,  '49. 


ON  READING  KENNAN'5  SIBERIAN 
PAPERS. 

I  caught  a  cry  across  the  waters  flung, 
So  proud  and  piteous  (as  if  Despair 
Held  forth  a  people's  heart  and  laid  it  bare 

For  all  the  world  to  gaze  on),  that  it  stung 

My  helpless  heart  to  pity.     Then  I  clung 
Close  to  God's  judgment  bar  in  silent  prayer. 
As  though  the  heart  of  mercy,  throned  there. 

Might  heed  that  cry  of  pain  from  Russia  wrung. 

But  soon  my  silence  broke,  and  there  upwelled. 

Hot,  bold,  and  passionate,  "  Our  Father's  God, 
Free  Thou  these  Russian  hearts,  in  fetters  held! 
Nerve  Thou  these  Russian  hands  to  wield  Thy 
rod 
And   scourge   the   oppressor,   till,    bv    Freedom 
felled. 
The  tyrant's  throne  be  crumbled  to  the  sod!  " 
Allen  Eastman  Cross,  '86. 

From  "  The  Critic!'  February,  1890. 


MEMORY  SONG  TO  AMHERST. 


Very  slowlu,  tvith  breadth.         Mozart.  Arr.  by  W.  P.  Bigelow,  'C9. 


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MEMOR  Y  SONG  TO  AMHERST.  77 


II. 

Here,  in  toil  and  stress  of  trial, 

Here,  in  sturdy  self-denial, 

Wrought,  to  found  these  hoary  walls, 

Men  whose  life-long  consecration, 

Rich  in  sacred  inspiration. 

Us  to  high  endeavor  calls, — 
Truth  and  high  endeavor  calls. 

III. 

From  these  halls  to  action's  glory. 
Deeds  unsung  or  famed  in  story, 

Pitching  tent  on  many  a  strand. 
Forth  have  gone  the  alumni,  wearing 
Amherst's  seal,  and  nobly  bearing 
Amherst's  name  to  every  land, 
Honoring  her  in  every  land. 

IV. 

Nature's  bounteous  wealth  surrounding, 
Friendship's,  learning's  joys  abounding. 
Crown  these  youthful  college  days; 
Yes,  her  loyal  sons  remember, 
Down  to  life's  austere  December, 

Dear  old  Amherst's  worthy  praise : — 
Never  die  sweet  Amherst's  praise ! 

John  F.  Genung. 


THE  GLEE. 

When   night   enshrouds   old   Amherst, 

And  starry  darkness  falls 
O'er  all  the  town  and  campus, 

Veiling  chapel,  church  and  halls; 
Through  open  windows  softly 

Comes  stealing  in  to  me 
The  sound  of  students'  voices, 

As  they  sing  some  jolly  glee. 

When  sad  thoughts  crowd  upon  me, 

And  my  path  seems  dark  and  drear. 
And  days  drag  on  so  slowly — 

A  week  seems  as  a  year; 
When  I  think  of  the  past  I've  wasted, 

What  the  future  is  to  be ; 
Why,  some  way  things  look  brighter 

When  the  fellows  sing  the  glee. 

When  years  shall  leave  me  weary, 

And  age  shall  bow  my  head, 
I'll  falter  back  to  Amherst 

When  the  leaves  are  turning  red ; 
I'll  seek  the  same  old  window, 

And  sinking  on  my  knee, 
My  heart  will  echo  softly 

As  the  fellows  sing  the  glee. 

L.  C.  Stone,  '96. 


Ai^HEPST  rORTY  YEAP5  AGO. 

It  was  the  third  of  July,  1855,  towards  mid- 
night, in  an  upper  room  in  old  North  College, 
where  Williston  Hall  now  stands.  I  was  reading 
"  Dream  Life,"  and  being  thirsty,  went  out  to 
the  well  and  brought  in  a  brimming  pail  of  water. 
Some  Seniors  who  roomed  down  town  had  ar- 
rayed themselves  in  white  duck  suits,  silk  hats 
and  patent  leather  shoes,  obtained  a  supply  of 
fire  crackers,  and  came  into  the  east  entry  to 
bang  them  under  the  doors  and  through  the  key- 
holes in  anticipation  of  the  Fourth.  My  room 
was  the  last,  and  as  soon  as  they  started  down  I 
seized  my  pail  of  water,  went  to  the  front  hall 
window,  and  as  they  came  out  on  the  stone 
steps,  four  stories  below,  I  held  out  the  pail  at 
arm's  length,  gave  it  a  clean  tip-over  and  drew 
back.  As  I  learned  afterwards  the  water  struck 
Rufus  Choate  on  the  hat  and  soaked  him  to  his 
shoes.  After  a  moment's  silence  I  heard  them 
coming  back  iip-stairs  with  a  very  resolute  tread. 
Bolting  my  door,  I  seized  an  iron  poker  and 
stood  ready  to  "  defend  my  castle." 

They  stopped  on  the  second  floor,  however, 
and  kicked  into  splinters  the  door  of  Bradbury 
brothers,  suspecting  them.  They,  awakened  thus 
rudely,   protested   their  innocence  and   made  a 


8o  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

great  row.  The  next  morning  the  brothers  made 
complaint  to  Tutor  Rowland  against  these  haz- 
ing Seniors.  Expecting  that  an  investigation 
would  follow  I  went  to  Tutor  Rowland  and  told 
of  my  participation  in  the  afifair.  Xothing  was 
done,  and  I  heard  no  more  about  it  until  I  hap- 
pened to  meet  Choate  two  weeks  after.  He 
reached  out  his  hand  and  said:  "  You  did  that 
well!  "  "  I'm  glad  you  think  so,"  I  replied,  and 
we  agreed  to  call  it  even. 

Another  student  prank  comes  vividly  to  mind. 
There  was  a  bowlder  walk  extending  from  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  near  North  College  to  the  high- 
way in  front  of  tlie  President's  house.  It  was 
a  treacherous  means  of  passage,  especially  after 
dark  in  spring  or  fall,  when,  instead  of  stepping 
on  the  tops  of  the  bowlders,  one  was  liable  to  step 
between  and  go  over  shoe  in  mud.  About  ten 
o'clock  one  night,  by  mutual  understanding, 
crowbars  and  picks  were  taken  from  Appleton 
Cabinet,  then  building,  and  beginning  at  the 
highway  the  bowlders  were  dug  up  and  rolled 
down  the  hill  toward  the  Boltwood  house.  Some 
of  them  were  large  and  bedded  deep,  leaving 
great  holes.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  The  chug 
of  bars  and  picks  was  the  onh-  noise,  and  the 
fire  that  flew  from  striking  steel  on  stone  was 
the  only  light.  The  work  moved  right  up  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  when  some  one  discovered  that 
Tutor  Rowland  was  leaning  out  of  his  third-story 
window  in  North  College  to  identify  whom  he 


O  ^o 


<  2 
u 


S2  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

could.  The  work  was  done,  the  band  scattered, 
every  fellow  returned  his  tool  and  hustled  off  to 
bed  without  a  light. 

The  next  morning  when  "  Prof.  Ty  "  was  go- 
ing up  to  (ireek,  the  janitor,  Mr.  Ay  res,  was  at 
work  with  a  hoe  digging  down  the  elevations  and 
filling  in  the  holes  to  make  the  walk  passable. 
"  You  are  making  a  good  improvement  here," 
said  the  professor.  "  Do  you  think  so?  "  said  Mr. 
Ayres.  "  I  do,"  replied  the  professor.  It  was  a 
hit,  and  no  effort  was  made  to  discover  the  dig- 
gers. We  have  done  many  easier  jobs,  but  never 
one  more  satisfactory. 

Forty  years  ago  the  two  literary  societies,  Ath- 
enae  and  Alexandria,  were  accustomed  to  hold 
in  the  Chapel,  soon  after  the  opening  of  College, 
an  "  electioneering  meeting,"  which  correspond- 
ed to  the  modern  fraternity  "  rushing  season." 
At  the  meeting  in  my  Freshman  year  George 
Partridge,  '54,  a  Senior,  had  spoken,  giving  many 
statistics  and  facts  to  show  us  Freshmen  the  su- 
periority of  his  society.  The  Senior  from  the 
other  society  began  by  saying  he  was  aware  that 
his  opponent  had  been  brooding  over  records  for 
weeks  past,  but  it  would  not  amount  to  anything, 
for  we  read  in  the  good  book  that  "  the  part- 
ridge sitteth  on  eggs  and  hatcheth  them  not." 
This  witticism  was  cheered  loudly  and  had  great 
weight  with  the  Freshmen. 

Early  in  the  fifties  there  were  few  buildings  on 
College  Hill.     All  the  recitation  rooms  were  in 


AMHERST  FORTY   YEARS  AGO.  83 

the  old  Chapel,  except  one  in  the  Octagon  and 
another  in  old  South  College.  The  Chapel  aisles 
and  pews  were  bare  and  noisy;  the  pew  doors 
were  continually  slanuning  as  the  boys  passed 
in  and  out.  The  recitation-rooms  were  seated  with 
plank  benches  rising  in  tiers.  It  was  in  the  day 
of  President  Stearns  that  mattings,  chairs,  pic- 
tures and  statuettes  came  into  use.  The  pew 
doors  were  taken  off,  accommodations  made 
more  comfortable,  and  a  look  and  feeling  of  fine- 
ness crept  through  the  College. 

Greek,  Latin  and  Mathematics  were  the  trin- 
ity to  whom  we  all  sacrificed.  There  were  other 
studies,  but  it  was  true,  "  now  abideth  these 
three."  Nothing  was  optional,  and  there  were 
no  "  cuts.''  We  exercised  in  the  grove  and  had 
chapel  before  breakfast.  There  were  no  glee, 
banjo,  or  mandolin  clubs,  no  scientific  baseball, 
football  or  tennis.  The  Greek  fraternities  had  no 
chapter  houses,  and  only  one  had  rooms  outside 
the  dormitories.  According  to  the  boys  in  those 
days  President  Hitchcock  was  the  greatest  and 
best  man;  Professor  Tyler  the  most  discerning — 
that  is,  he  knew  boys  as  well  as  Greek ;  Professor 
Snell  was  the  best  teacher,  and  Professor  Haven 
the  deepest  thinker  and  most  finished  orator. 

Forty  years  ago  a  fellow  could  go  through 
Amherst  College  comfortably  for  $1,200.  We 
went  for  the  education.  Intellectual  attainments 
and  religious  life  were  what  nearly  all  sought. 
The  government  of  the  College  was  simple  and 


84  ^A'  AMHERST  BOOK. 

easy.  It  governed  itself  for  the  most  part.  Every- 
thing was  plain  and  inexpensive.  There  were  no 
styles  that  had  to  be  followed,  and  yet  a  great 
many  young  men  got  a  training  that  has  made 
them  leaders  in  the  high  callings  of  the  world. 
New  Amherst  may  be  better,  but  we  of  forty 
years  ago  can  never  cease  to  feel  "  Blessed  be 
Old  Amherst." 

E.  G.  Cobb,  '57. 


rPaZAP  AUGUSTUS  STEARNS.* 

A  brave  and  beauteous  boy — scarce  more 

In  years,  in  spirit  manhood's  own — 
When  once  he  heard  of  battle's  roar, 

And  thought  of  that  sad  race  whose  moan 
Rose  helplessly,  he  put  aside 

Life's  sweets  and  freely  sacrificed 
His  all  for  liberty.    He  died; 

But  memory  has  canonized 
His  chivalry.    Fair  Honor  weaves 

Her  laurel  for  his  brow,  and  Truth — 
The  Queen  whose  will  he  followed — leaves 

Her  tears  upon  his  tomb  to  soothe 
Her  sorrow,  while  the  lips  of  Fame 

Lisp  ceaselessly  his  deathless  name. 

Seymour  Ransom,  '92. 

*A  son  of  President  Stearns  and  a  member  of  the 
Class  of  1862.  Killed  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  in 
the  battle  of  Newbern,  N.  C,   1862. 


INITIAL  rED. 

Somebody  started  up  the  fire  in  the  chapter- 
house parlor,  we  all  gathered  round  it,  and  then 
they  called  on  me  for  a  story.  All  the  fellows 
were  looking  at  me,  and  the  boyish  faces  that 
were  full  of  college  life  brought  back  to  my  mind 
boyish  faces  of  another  day.  As  I  gazed  into  the 
fire  the  red  flames,  hungrily  licking  the  big  sticks 
and  roaring  in  the  way  of  all  flame,  formed  pic- 
tures before  me.  The  roaring  was  like  the  sound 
of  wind  in  tall  trees,  and  I  seemed  to  see  the 
great  branches  tossing  about  in  the  blaze.  Then 
right  on  the  flames  came  a  face,  and  my  momen- 
tary start  at  the  apparition  was  noticed,  for  the 
boys  again  implored  a  story.  What  could  I  do? 
The  fire  had  brought  back  memories,  so  I  told 
the  one  weird  story  I  knew,  and  for  a  college 
tale  I  think  it  was  sadder  than  it  should  have 
been. 

"  Boys,"  I  began,  "  I  suppose  life  at  Amherst  is 
just  as  full  of  fun  now  as  it  used  to  be  in  my  time, 
but  still  you  all  must  know  of  one  or  more  seri- 
ous things.  Let  me  ask  you,  in  the  first  place, 
never  to  impose  on  a  man's  weakness.  God  help 
you  if  you  do!  That's  my  moral,  so  don't  look 
for  any  other.  My  Senior  year  we  pledged  here 
a  man  with  an  antipathy.  He  was  a  fine-looking, 
honest,  manly  fellow,  and  all  you  could  ask,  ex- 


86  A  AT  AMHERST  BOOK. 

cept — I  don't  know  how  we  found  it  out — he  was 
afraid  of  the  dark  and  of  high  places.  I  think  if 
he  had  gone  on  the  Chapel  tower  he  would  have 
fainted,  and  as  for  leaving  lamp-light  at  night, 
that  was  a  thing  he  never  dared  to  do. 

"  Well,  when  it  came  time  for  initiation  we 
thought  it  would  be  great  sport  to  make  him  less 
afraid  of  the  dark,  and  so  we  planned  an  elab- 
orate scheme  for  his  '  out-door  work.'  After  the 
usual  nonsense  that  you  all  know  about,  we  tied 
his  hands  to  his  sides,  wrapped  him  up  in  a  big 
blanket,  bandaged  his  eyes,  made  a  cushion  for 
his  head,  and  set  oflf  in  an  old  lumber  wagon  we 
found  somewhere,  and  with  a  livery  horse.  The 
night  was  dark  as  pitch — all  cloudy  overhead — • 
but  we  knew  the  road,  and  so  did  the  horse. 
Four  of  us  went.  Two  lay  beside  the  Freshman 
in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  and  one  sat  by  me, 
for  I  was  driving.  We  took  the  road  to  Hadley 
and  lashed  the  horse  all  the  way.  The  Fresh- 
man bumped  around  in  his  blanket,  but  endured 
the  torture  without  a  murmur.  It  was  just  a 
matter  of  darkness  through  the  two-mile  woods 
and  by  the  old  witch  swamp,  but  it  got  rather 
creepy  when  we  had  passed  Hadley — you  know, 
turning  down  the  road  to  the  left — and  were 
steering  for  the  mountain.  The  horse  was  nerv- 
ous, too,  for  it  sweated  white  in  the  dark.  But 
I  gritted  my  teeth  and  hung  on  for  dear  life, 
while  the  fellow  next  me  kept  laying  on  the  whip. 
Sometimes  we  were  in  the  road  and  sometimes 


8S  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

in  the  ditch.  As  we  dashed  along  by  the  river 
I  suddenly  thought  '  What  if  the  horse  got  too 
near  the  bank,  and  that  fellow  all  tied  up  in  the 
blanket! '  I  remember  rattling  through  that  old 
covered  bridge  so  that  it  threatened  to  come 
down  about  our  ears.  Bump!  bump!  we  went, 
over  knolls  and  into  gullies,  and  soon  the  dark 
mass  of  Holyoke  loomed  up  out  of  the  black 
night.  Across  the  river  we  could  see  Tom  faint- 
ly outlined  against  the  sky. 

"  We  drove  up  the  mountain  as  far  as  we 
could,  then  tied  the  horse  and  walked,  with  our 
man  blindfolded,  the  rest  of  the  way.  Near  the 
top  we  steered  off  into  the  brush  and  over  the 
ledges.  Of  course  we  had  a  lantern  and  picked 
our  way  carefully.  We  had  a  fiendish  plan,  but 
we  were  greater  devils  than  we  knew.  Our  pris- 
oner stumbled  along  and  sometimes  fell,  but 
never  said  a  .word.  After  a  long  climb  we 
reached  the  spot  we  were  aiming  for — the  top  of 
a  clifif  about  lOO  feet  high — and  there  we  halted. 
The  wind  sighed  in  the  trees  like  spirits,  the 
leaves  brushed  together  and  the  branches 
creaked;  the  awful  lonesomeness  of  the  place  al- 
most frightened  us.  Well,  we  four  poor  fools 
took  that  Freshman,  wrapped  him  closer  in  the 
blanket  so  that  he  wouldn't  catch  cold,  and  then 
tied  him  to  a  big  tree  that  stood  right  on  the  edge 
of  the  cHfif.  We  secured  him  so  that  he  wouldn't 
get  loose  and  fall  over  the  cHflf;  then  told  him 
his  position,  and  made  him  promise  all  sorts  of 


INITIA  TED.  89 

things.  All  the  while  the  wind  was  muttering  up 
and  down  in  the  big  mountain,  as  though  its  old 
Indian  devils  had  come  back  again.  Way  off 
beyond  were  Tom  and  Nonotuck,  with  their  wild 
stories  and  legends.  One  of  the  fellows  told  some 
.  of  the  more  awful  of  these  stories  in  such  a  way 
as  to  magnify  their  horror,  and  before  he  got 
through  we  all  had  the  shivers.  Then  we  went 
ofif  and  left  the  Freshman  tied  to  the  tree,  being 
careful  to  remove  the  blindfold,  so  that  he  could 
appreciate  the  situation.  We  were  going  to  leave 
him  for  two  hours  alone  in  the  dark,  hanging 
over  the  edge  of  that  cliff,  with  his  mind  torment- 
ed by  about  as  devilish  a  lot  of  ghost  stories  as  I 
ever  heard.  We  went  back  to  where  we  had 
tied  the  horse,  and  were  all  filled  with  our  scheme 
and  its  results,  which  we  knew  would  be  the  cur- 
ing of  that  fellow's  fear  of  the  dark,  at  least. 

"  The  first  flash  and  rumble  of  an  approaching 
storm  suddenly  woke  us  from  our  self-gratula- 
tion,  and  we  started  for  our  Freshman.  As  we 
clambered  breathlessly  over  the  rocks  the  man 
with  the  lantern  stumbled  and  smashed  it,  and 
we  lost  the  path.  Then  the  storm  broke  upon  us 
in  fury.  The  wind  shrieked  and  howled  like  a 
mad  demon.  The  rain  poured  in  torrents,  and 
the  thunder  cracked  and  roared  and  rumbled, 
and  broke  the  sky  and  the  mountain,  too.  The 
lightning  now  lit  up  all  around  us  intensely 
white,  so  that  we  could  see  the  great  trees  tossing 
about  in  the  storm,  and  then  all  was  black  again. 


(Jfi  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

In  the  flashes  we  caught  glimpses  of  each  other's 
white,  scared  faces,  as  we  plunged  on  through 
those  awful  woods,  but  nowhere  could  we  dis- 
cover that  tree  or  cliff.  Suddenly  there  came  a 
fearful  crash,  and  not  300  feet  away  a  tree  was 
shattered  before  our  eyes.  We  dropped  with 
fright,  and  lay  there  in  the  dark — four  half-crazed 
boys,  praying  wildly  for  God  to  save  us.  Then  we 
thought  of  that  poor  fellow  tied  at  the  top  of  the 
cliff,  and  dreadful  apprehensions  tormented  us. 

"  The  storm  cleared  at  last,  the  stars  came  out, 
and  the  night  grew  brighter.  Where  was  our 
Freshman?  We  said  little,  but  each  one  feared  that 
somewhere  on  that  great,  dark  mountain  was  a 
maniac  tied  to  a  tree  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff. 
Trembling  from  our  past  terror  and  this  new 
fear  we  hurried  on.  Soon  we  found  the  cliff,  but — 
burned  ropes,  burned  blanket,  a  splintered  tree. 
Struck  by  lightning!  'Good  God!'  cried  one 
fellow  and  fainted.  We  were  murderers — horri- 
ble, hideous  murderers!  Not  one  of  us  dared  go 
to  the  bottom  of  the  cliff,  where  the  body  must 
have  fallen.  Dazed  and  overwhelmed  we  stum- 
bled down  the  mountain.  We  would  tell  our  ter- 
rible crime  to  the  President  and  give  ourselves 
up.    Then  what?— we  were  murderers! 

"  On  the  long  ride  home  not  a  word  was 
spoken.  All  I  could  think  of  was  an  awful  crash, 
a  blinding  light,  and  a  white  face  at  the  bottom 
of  a  cliff.  That  face  haunts  my  mind  to-day,  as  it 
lay  there,  ghastly  and  cold,  under  the  starlight. 


I  Nil  I A  TED.  91 

"  We  went  to  my  room,  locked  ourselves  in, 
and  were  there  till  noon,  listening  for  a  knock 
that  we  thought  was  sure  to  come,  and  suffering 
all  the  pangs  of  mental  torture.  At  noon,  with 
white,  downcast  faces  and  heavy  hearts,  we  set 
out  for  the  President's  house.  Just  as  we  reached 
his  gate  we  ran  squarely  upon — the  Freshman! 
For  an  instant  we  staggered  with  amazement,, 
then  rushing  forward  we  overwhelmed  him  with 
our  excited  words. 

"  His  explanation  was  simple  enough.  Hear- 
ing the  storm  coming,  and  frightened  at  the 
thought  of  his  position,  he  had  by  almost  super- 
human effort  worked  himself  free.  He  had  run 
through  the  woods  and  down  the  mountain  to  a 
farm-house,  reaching  it  just  in  time  to  escape 
the  full  fury  of  the  storm.  The  lightning  had 
struck  the  tree  while  we  were  cowering  in  the 
woods.  It  was  a  miraculous  escape.  1  don't 
know  whether  he  was  cured  of  his  fear  or  not,  but 
as  for  me,  the  sight  of  Holyoke  makes  me  shud- 
der, and  a  thunder  storm  revives  the  old  terror. 
We  were  the  ones  who  had  been  initiated." 

Frederick  H.  Law,  '95. 


.•s 


OLD    UNXLE. 


OLD  UNCLE. 

He  is  a  sure  sign  of  spring — this  old  man.  On 
a  raw,  windy  March  morning,  perhaps,  you  are 
going  home  from  recitations.  Picking  your  way 
along  the  muddy  walk,  you  button  your  coat 
closer  and  thrust  your  hands  deep  into  your 
pockets.  Splash!  Splash!  on  you  go,  longing 
for  your  pipe  and  your  fire.  You  turn  a  corner 
and  come  face  to  face  with  him. 

"  Have  some  maple  sugar?  " 

There  he  stands,  just  as  he  stood  twelve 
months  ago.  There  is  the  same  old,  rusty,  dent- 
ed beaver  hat;  the  same  thick  mass  of  soft,  white 
hair,  almost  covering  his  wrinkled  face ;  the  same 
weather-scarred  coat,  with  its  nicked  buttons  and 
frayed  buttonholes ;  the  same  stick ;  the  same  pail ; 
and,  for  all  you  know,  the  same  cakes  of  sugar. 
He  is  as  unchangeable  as  Old  Father  Time. 

Shifting  his  cane  to  his  left  hand,  he  takes 
from  the  pail  one  of  the  yellow  disks  and  holds 
it  up  for  you  to  examine. 

"  Well,  uncle,"  you  say,  putting  the  cake  into 
your  pocket,  "  I  suppose  we  can  look  for  warm 
weather,  now  that  you  are  around!  How  did  you 
pass  the  winter?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  Kinder  like  a  wood- 
chuck,  I  guess,"  he  answers  in  a  drawling  tone. 


94  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

"  There  ain't  nothin'  goin'  on  out  my  way,  I  git 
to  meetin'  now  and  then ;  you  send  a  fine  preach- 
er out  there.  He's  got  the  gosp'l  in  his  heart, 
an'll  be  a  big  one  by'n  by.  Have  some  maple 
sugar?  " 

This  last  is  addressed  to  a  new  comer,  who, 
like  yourself,  pauses  to  have  a  word  or  two.  Then 
another  arrives,  and  still  others,  until  quite  a 
group  surrounds  the  old  fellow. 

"  Say,  uncle,  give  us  a  song!  "  shouts  some 
one.    "  Give  us  '  Down  went  McGinty.'  " 

"  I — don't^know — that — tune." 

"  Well,  '  CHmb  Up  Ye  Little  Children.'  " 

"  Eh?  " 

"  '  Climb  Up  Ye  Little  Children.' " 

L^ncle  looks  passively  at  the  crowd,  but  does 
not  reply. 

'"Home,  Sweet  Home!'  'Home,  Sweet 
Home! '  "  suggest  several. 

With  a  low,  far-away  voice  the  old  man  begins 
to  sing.  Presently  his  voice  grows  louder  and 
louder,  until  passers-by  stop  to  listen.  On,  on, 
he  sings,  entirely  oblivious  of  the  curious  audi- 
ence around  him.  At  last,  when  the  song  is  fin- 
ished, the  crowd  separates. 

Once  more  alone,  and  unmindful  of  the  sharp 
wind,  the  old  man  looks  up  and  down  the  street, 
and  calmly  awaits  the  arrival  of  another  pur- 
chaser. 

Herman  Babson,  '93. 


POIPOT. 

Poirot,  the  lame  beggar,  crouched  on  the  cold, 
hard  stones.  Up  and  down  the  broad  steps  hur- 
ried the  crowd.  There  were  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, tradesmen  and  laborers,  but  no  one  turned. 
It  was  snowing  fast.  Plakes  from  every  side 
raced  toward  the  old  man,  who  was  hidden  be- 
neath his  mantle;  but  for  Poirot  the  flakes  that 
rushed  so  madly  and  settled  so  lightly  made 
heavenly  music.  As  the  crystal  stars  touched  his 
tattered  garments  they  brought  forth  a  more  de- 
licious harmony  than  could  the  summer  rain, 
had  it  in  Tempe  swept  Apollo's  harp.  Dim  grew 
the  city ;  but  it  was  the  sweet  haze  through  which 
he  saw  his  native  France.  Oh,  the  mountains! 
and  the  clouds!  and  the  sky!  and  the  blue  stream 
beneath  the  vineyards! 

Now  beautiful  creatures  were  bearing  him  far 
above  the  city,  where  the  thousands  still  suf- 
fered— on,  on,  through  mile  upon  mile  of  the 
liquid  ether.  Slowly  the  glimmering  earth  grew 
fainter;  it  shone  like  a  star  in  the  eye  of  night. 
Poirot  wondered  at  the  admiration  and  love  of 
those  who  carried  him,  until  they  crossed  a 
stream  more  transparent  than  the  clearest  mir- 
ror, and  there  he  saw  that  he  himself  was  a 
creature  more  beautiful  than  any  of  those  who 
bore  him.  Beyond  was  a  cloud  whiter  than  light, 
but  when  Poirot  had  crossed  the  river,  thought 
could  go  no  farther;  and  Poirot  went  on;  and  the 
melody  died  away. 

In  the  morning  they  shook  oflf  the  snow  and 
said:     "Poor  Poirot!     If  he  suffered  so  in  his 
death,  let  us  at  least  give  him  a  decent  burial." 
Robert  Porter  St.  John,  '93. 


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IHE  COLLEGE  IN   1560. 

College  Hill  in  i860,  as  shown  on  the  opposite 
page,  had  assumed  very  much  the  appearance 
that  it  has  to-day.  Almost  the  only  change  has 
been  caused  by  the  growth  of  the  trees,  which 
now  relieve  the  stern  outHnes  of  the  buildings. 
Of  all  the  buildings  that  have  been  erected  since 
i860  only  one  could  be  seen  from  the  point  of 
view  taken  in  the  accompanying  picture. 

In  1835  the  original  President's  house,  now 
occupied  by  the  Psi  Upsilon  fraternity,  became 
unsatisfactory,  and  the  present  one  was  built 
upon  land  purchased  in  1841.  The  Library,  the 
first  stone  building  on  the  campus,  was  erected 
in  1853.  It  included  the  square  portion  at  the 
northeast  corner  and  the  tower.  The  present 
reading-room  was  used  also  for  the  stack.  It  had 
all  the  shelf  room  that  would  be  needed,  the 
authorities  supposed,  for  the  next  fifty  years.  In 
less  than  half  that  time,  however,  the  place  was 
overcrowded,  and  it  became  necessary  to  add  the 
present  stack,  which  has  a  capacity  for  about 
one  hundred  thousand  volumes.  The  Lawrence 
Observatory  and  Woods  Cabinet,  familiarly 
known  from  its  form  as  "  The  Octagon,"  was 
erected  in  1847  on  the  site  of  the  first  meeting 
house  of  the  First  Congregational  Society.  The 
geological  lecture  room  was  added  in  1855.  The 
collections  in  this  building  cover  the  subjects  of 


lOO  AN  AMHERST  BOOK'. 

geology  and  mineralogy,  those  representing  the 
geology  of  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  being 
especially  complete  and  valuable. 

Appleton  Cabinet,  the  southernmost  building 
of  Chapel  Row,  was  also  built  in  1855,  and  has 
since  been  the  home  of  the  Hitchcock  Ichniolog- 
ical  collection,  the  Gilbert  collection  of  Indian 
relics,  and  the  Adams  Zoological  collection.  Wil- 
liston  Hall  and  East  College  were  built  two  years 
later.  The  story  of  their  appearance  is  an  inter- 
esting one  in  the  history  of  the  college.  One  bit- 
ter cold  night  in  January,  1857,  Old  North  Col- 
lege burned  to  the  ground.  The  students  were 
all  attending  society  meetings  in  the  other  dor- 
mitories. One  of  them  had  left  an  open  fire  burn- 
ing in  his  grate,  and  that  fire  caused  the  mis- 
chief. The  wind  blew  a  gale  from  the  northwest, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  do  anything  to  save  the 
building.  Had  the  wind  blown  more  directly 
from  the  north  the  whole  Chapel  Row  must 
have  gone.  The  ashes  had  hardly  ceased  to 
smoke  when  Hon.  Samuel  Williston,  of  East- 
hampton,  came  generously  to  the  rescue  and  of- 
fered to  erect,  on  the  same  site,  a  building  which 
should  contain  a  chemical  laboratory,  rooms  for 
the  two  literary  societies,  and  an  alumni  hall,  on 
condition  that  the  trustees  would  engage  to  re- 
place the  burned  dormitory.  This  proposition 
the  trustees  gladly  accepted,  and  work  on  the 
two  buildings  was  at  once  begun.  The  site 
chosen  for  the  new  dormitory  was  in  the  rear 


THE  COLLEGE  IN  i860.  lor 

of  the  campus,  just  west  of  where  the  church 
now  stands,  and  from  its  location  it  received 
the  name  East  College.  The  burning  of  Old 
North  College  thus  proved  to  be,  as  President 
Stearns  said,  "  one  of  the  greatest  catastrophes 
and  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  the  college  ever 
experienced."  In  Williston  Hall  the  chemical 
laboratory  occupied  the  ground  floor,  and  the 
two  literary  societies  the  second  floor,  the  rooms 
having  separate  entrances  and  no  means  of  com- 
munication with  each  other.  The  large  hall  on 
the  third  floor  was  used  for  examinations  and 
alumni  gatherings,  until  it  was  needed  as  a  gal- 
lery for  the  collection  of  casts  which  Professor 
Mather  was  making.  It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that 
the  student  who  carelessly  left  his  open  fire  burn- 
ing in  Old  North  College  was  the  man  to  whose 
enthusiasm  and  energy  the  college  is  indebted 
for  its  collection  of  very  excellent  casts. 

The  Barrett  Gymnasium  was  built  in  i860,  and 
is  said  to  be  the  first  building  in  the  country 
erected  for  gymnastic  work  in  charge  of  a  reg- 
ularly appointed  professor.  It  is  of  Pelham  gran- 
ite, seventy  feet  long  and  fifty  wide.  The  main 
floor,  formerly  used  for  class  exercises,  and  con- 
taining the  heavy  apparatus,  is  in  the  second 
story.  The  lower  floor  contained  the  professor's 
room,  dressing  rooms,  bowling  alley,  etc.  The 
old  building  is  now  used  as  a  storehouse  for  col- 
lege debris. 

Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97. 


PROrESSOP  CHARLIE. 

Dear  Old  Charlie !  Often  have  I  seen  him  rak- 
ing the  leaves,  a  sure  sign  of  the  approach  of 
winter.  Rumor  has  it  that  a  Freshman  {utpote 
homo  viridis)  once  pointed  at  the  "  Professor's  " 
heap  of  burning  leaves  and  cruelly  remarked 
that  the  leaves  were  almost  as  black  as  his  face. 
Whereat  Charlie  crushed  the  Freshman  by  re- 
torting: "  x\nd  nex'  spring  they'll  be  as  green 
as  you  be."  But  such  a  legend  is  a  departure 
from  our  purpose,  which  is  to  throw  a  side-light 
on  the  old  fellow's  history  and  character. 

His  name  is  Charles  Thompson.  At  least,  that 
is  the  name  he  has  often  had  me  write  on  receipts 
for  wages,  or  some  similar  document.  He  once 
assured  me  that  he  did  not  ask  help  because  he 
could  not  write,  but  because  it  was  cold  weather 
and  his  fingers  were  numb,  and  "  when  his  fin- 
gers are  numb  he  can  write  only  coarse  hand." 

We  were  once  told  from  the  chapel  rostrum 
that  this  "  Professor  "  had  not  won  his  title  "  in 
any  lines  of  academic  distinction  among  us."  Is 
that  a  reason  why  we  love  him  so  much?  He 
wears  well,  at  any  rate,  for  during  term  time  in 
the  last  three  years  not  a  day  has  passed  in  which 
I  have  failed  to  rejoice  at  the  sight  of  his  kind  old 
face,  save  a  week  at  the  time  of  his  one  brief 
illness.    And  from  my  window  in  South  College 


PROFESSOR   CHARLIE. 


I04  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

I  have  often  seen  an  alumnus  clamber  up  "  Dys- 
pepsia Hill  "  from  the  Central  Massachusetts  sta- 
tion, stop  to  gaze  at  the  Chapel  Row  a  moment, 
and  then  head  straight  for  the  dusty  regions  of 
sub-Chapel  "  to  see  if  Professor  Charlie  remem- 
bered him."  The  old  man  does  recall  him  as  a 
rule.  May  he  remember  me  at  some  future  date, 
when,  like  Macaulay's  New  Zealander,  I  return 
and  behold  a  new  College  Hall  and  the  ruined 
columns  of  the  Old  Chapel!  Old  alumni  some- 
times ask  him  why  he  doesn't  die.  He  always 
tells  them,  "  I  don't  know ;  I  expec'  to  go  when 
the  good  Lord  takes  me."  And  thus  he  has  lived 
on;  Dr.  W.  S.  Tyler  is  the  only  one  now  alive 
who  was  a  professor  here  when  Charlie  came  to 
Amherst. 

Old  Charlie  has  two  histories.  There  is  that 
deHghtful  romance  of  his  having  been  a  slave, 
and  how  Captain  Frazar  Stearns  purchased  his 
freedom  and  brought  him  north  as  a  body  ser- 
vant, later  to  drift  into  the  sendee  of  the  Col- 
lege. I  hope  I  shall  not  be  thought  an  iconoclast 
if  I  tell  the  true  version.  The  Professor  was  born 
as  free  as  any  of  us,  in  Portland,  Maine.  Only  a 
few  minutes  ago  he  was  sitting  on  a  trunk  in  the 
lower  hall,  swinging  his  legs  and  chirruping 
away,  telling  me  all  about  himself.  He  said  that 
when  he  was  sixteen  he  sailed  on  the  ship  "  War- 
ren," of  the  port  of  Warren,  Maine,  bound  on  a 
whaling  cruise.  He  described  pictorially  the  first 
whale,  and  how  they  finally  captured  it;  how  he 


PROFESSOR    CHARLIE.  105 

once  saw  a  whale  kill  five  men  in  the  jolly-boat; 
how  they  were  out  four  years  and  a  half  and 
brought  back  five  hundred  and  ten  barrels  of  oil. 
Again  he  went  before  the  mast,  this  time  on  a 
bark — "  Kremblin  "  was  the  name  I  caught,  and 
he  had  "  forgotten "  how  to  spell  it.  On  this 
cruise  he  went  "  down  to  London  and  then  down 
to  China;"  saw  Java  and  "lots  of  monkeys," 
Africa  and  "  lions  and  elephants."  Professor 
Charlie  remarked  that  Africa  is  a  "  mighty  pretty 
island,  but  drelTul  hot,"  and  then,  moralizing, 
"  It's  a  mighty  fine  thing  fer  a  young  fellah  to 
travel  'round  a  lot."  In  a  few  minutes  he  wrenched 
me  around  the  globe,  from  Santiago  to  Siberia, 
from  Mocha  to  the  Congo  Free  State,  comment- 
ing on  them  as  places  of  interest  in  his  voyage. 

On  his  return  to  Cambridgeport,  President 
Stearns  hired  him  as  man-of-all-work,  and  Char- 
lie held  that  position  a  year  or  two  after  President 
Steams  came  to  Amherst  in  1854.  Then  he  came 
into  his  present  place  as  Professor  of  Dust  and 
Ashes  in  the  College.  For  a  brief  period  he  was 
head-janitor.  He  had  charge  of  the  chapel  clock 
for  many  years;  sometimes  he  tells  me,  without 
bitterness,  that  he  thinks  he  could  run  it  better 
than  his  successor  runs  it  to-day.  During  the 
war  he  was  full  of  interest  for  his  Southern  breth- 
ren, and  raised  the  flag  at  the  first  news  of  every 
Federal  victory.  So  he  has  filled  an  important 
place  here,  nor  has  he  ever  incurred  the  ill-will 
of  any  one,  faculty  or  student. 


io6  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

I  need  not  speak  of  his  "  trailing-footed  "  gait, 
his  big  shoes  or  his  dehberate  motions.  He  is  too 
familiar  to  us  all  to  need  such  personal  descrip- 
tion. But  one  thing  I  shall  never  forget :  There 
comes  a  rumble  in  the  hall,  I  hear  him  talking  to 
himself  just  outside  the  door,  and  then  he  taps  the 
panels  with  his  broom-handle.  The  door  is  opened 
and  there  he  stands,  smiling  all  over,  dragging  a 
five-bushel  basket,  and  saying  "  T'hee,  got  any 
waste-papah? "  May  he  live  long  to  ask  that 
question  of  many  a  student  whose  class  numbers 
in  the  nineteen  hundreds!  May  he  still  be  here 
when  my  class  has  its  quinquennial  and  decennial 
— until  "  the  good  Lord  takes  him!  " 

Roberts  Walker,  '96. 


DREAMS. 

Such  perfumes  these  no  city  breeze 

E'er  found  in  sun-swept  streets  of  town. 
I  dreamed  of  far  blue  hills,  horizon-walled. 

And  pathless  forests  still  and  brown, 
Where,  mid  the  noontide  hush, 

The  cat  bird  called 
In  tangled  underbrush. 

And  when  I  wakened,  thought  came  back 
Through  forest  shades  of  birch  and  tamarack. 
W.    S.    ROSSITER,  '8.7. 


T\H  UNHNISHED  STORY. 

Ned  Osborne  had  been  out  of  college  four 
years  now,  and  that  made  six  years  that  he  had 
been  examining-  all  the  girls  he  met  with 
thoughts  about  their  fitness  to  be  his  wife.  I 
say  six  years;  Freshman  year  he  had  been  busy 
studying,  having  an  idea  that  he  was  destined  to 
be  a  scholar  and  bring  renown  to  the  family 
name.  So  he  had  given  little  attention  to  the 
girls.  The  ideals  of  his  Sophomore  year  had 
been  quite  the  opposite  of  his  Freshman  hopes 
and  ambitions.  He  was  usually  to  be  found  close 
behind  the  burning  end  of  a  cigarette,  and  he 
made  himself  beHeve  that  he  liked  to  hear  people 
say  he  was  drinking  extensively  and  was  getting 
to  be  a  first-class  sport,  who  never  studied,  but 
who  managed  to  crib  his  way  up  to  the  passing 
mark. 

The  summer  after  Sophomore  year  Ned  had 
spent  at  home.  During  those  weeks  he  came  to 
realize  more  than  ever  before  how  honorable  and 
upright  his  father  was,  and  how  highly  respected 
by  all  his  associates.  The  ideas  of  his  mother, 
which  before  had  seemed  narrow  and  prejudiced, 
somehow  took  on  a  new  dignity  and  worth,  and 
because  he  was  still,  at  heart,  an  honest  and. 
thoughtful  fellow,  he  was  forced  to  admit  that 
she  was  not  so  mistaken  as  he  had  grown  to  im- 
agine her.  Right  here  his  years  of  early  train- 
ing made  themselves  felt,  and  because  his  Sopho- 


io8  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

more  ideal  was  not  good  enough,  he  had,  after 
a  brief  struggle,  cast  it  aside. 

So  when  he  went  back  to  college  to  begin  his 
third  year  he  was  thinking  very  seriously  of  the 
"  after  college."  This  was  quite  natural,  for  he 
had  just  turned  twenty-one.  He  could  see  plain- 
ly that  he  had  been  going  the  wrong  way,  and  he 
was  strengthened  in  his  determination  to  get 
started  again. 

Ned  had  always  been  a  favorite  with  the  girls, 
and  among  them  he  numbered  many  good 
friends.  After  he  began  to  look  more  ear- 
nestly at  life,  he  measured  each  one  in  the  light 
•of  the  future.  He  had  never  been  conscious  of 
having  any  ideal  for  a  wife,  but  now  he  found 
the  ideal  already  formed.  Judged  by  this  stand- 
ard all  his  girl  friends  were  lacking,  though  one 
or  two  had  come  very  near  meeting  its  require- 
ments. There  was  Miss  Branton — he  had  met 
her  in  spring  term  of  Senior  year,  and  she 
possessed  so  many  of  the  essential  qualifications 
that  for  a  time  he  almost  believed  she  was  the 
destined  girl.  But  soon  he  noticed  that  her  con- 
duct and  conversation  were  superficial.  She  was 
vivacious  and  entertaining,  but  he  could  not  re- 
member a  single  serious  talk  they  had  ever  had 
together,  nor  a  single  lofty  ambition  which  she 
had  strengthened  in  him.  So  she  would  not  do. 
Then  there  was  Agnes  Waverton — a  very  su- 
perior girl.  But  the  fact  that  he  had  known  her 
from  boyhood  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  love 


AN   UNFINISHED   STORY.  109 

her.  He  forgot  that  she  was  a  woman;  he  re- 
membered her  as  a  girl,  and  as  such  she  was  de- 
ficient. 

From  that  time  on  he  had  appHed  the  test  to 
every  new  girl  he  met — not  that  he  was  in  a 
hurry  to  choose,  but  under  the  circumstances  this 
examination  seemed  the  only  natural  thing. 

During  those  six  years  he  had  dreamed  much 
of  what  the  home  should  be.  In  all  the  dream- 
pictures,  he  saw,  sitting  just  across  the  table  from 
himself,  or  beside  him  at  the  fire,  a  happy,  moth- 
erly woman — the  real  joy  of  the  home.  He  could 
not  tell  the  color  of  her  eyes  or  hair — those  were 
imessential — and  he  never  wondered  as  to  her 
name,  but  he  always  saw  the  qualities  which  his 
ideal  demanded.  She  was  cultured,  of  a  fine, 
sympathetic  nature,  and  a  woman  who  made  lit- 
tle commotion  or  trouble  about  her  duties.  As 
to  his  children,  he  always  pictured  two  in  his 
mind.  The  boy  was  the  older — a  big,  jolly, 
warm-hearted  fellow ;  at  college  a  fair  student  and 
an  excellent  football  player.  He  had  about  de- 
cided to  name  him  Tom — Tom  was  so  honest 
and  unconventional.  The  daughter  was  two 
years  younger — tall  and  beautiful,  and  rather 
moderate,  with  a  cool  business  head.  And  he 
pictured  them  both  coming  home  from  college 
for  a  Christmas ;  Tom  just  getting  over  a  sprained 
knee;  the  daughter  talking  about  the  latest  novel 
and  begging  Papa  to  take  her  to  the  newest 
opera. 


AN    UNFINISHED    STORY.  iii 

This  was  his  condition,  matrimonially  speak- 
ing, when  he  met  Margaret  Stanton.  At  first 
she  had  seemed  like  the  hundred  other  girls  he 
knew.  As  he  came  to  know  her  better,  however, 
he  found  so  many  of  the  characteristics  for  which 
he  had  been  looking  that  her  acquaintance  be- 
came very  pleasant.  She  did  not  attain  to  the  full 
measure  of  his  standard,  but  he  was  sure  that 
he  saw  no  traits  in  her  which  denoted  tenden- 
cies that  were  contrary  to  his  ideals.  The  ac- 
quaintance grew  to  intimacy.  Rumor  whispered 
an  engagement,  and  though  this  was  not  true,  he 
had  about  decided  that  it  ought  to  be.  The  wo- 
man whose  face  he  had  so  often  seen  in  his 
dreams  was  now  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood. 
She  seemed  more  beautiful  than  any  other  wo- 
man.   All  his  dreams  were  now  to  be  realized. 

Margaret's  mother  had  invited  Ned  to  dine 
with  them,  and  he  had  accepted  with  an  end  in 
view.  He  knew  that  the  old  people  would  linger 
for  a  while  after  dinner  and  then  leave  them  to 
themselves,  and  that  was  to  be  the  time. 

Ned  had  never  before  so  enjoyed  a  dinner. 
Her  father  and  mother  had  always  been  cordial 
to  him,  but  they  seemed  unusually  so  that  even- 
ing, and  her  bright,  beautiful  face  just  across 
the  table  from  him  woke  the  fond  dreams  of  his 
own  home.  His  hopes  were  raised  and  his  de- 
termination strengthened. 

The  expected  transpired.  After  dinner  her 
father  said  that  a  case  in  court  on  the  morrow  de- 


112  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

nianded  his  attention  for  the  evening,  and  callers 
summoned  her  mother  to  another  room.  The 
talk  turned  to  people  they  knew,  and  he  said : 

"  I  met  Miss  Lincoln  driving  this  afternoon. 
She's  a  charming  young  woman  and  everybody 
speaks  very  highly  of  her,  too." 

"  Well,  I  have  my  opinion  of  Mary  Lincoln, 
and  I  can't  say  that  I  agree  with  everybody," 
she  replied,  and  her  cheeks  flushed.  , 

He  was  startled  by  this  quick  and  spirited  re- 
tort, and  hoping  that  he  had  misunderstood,  he 
asked,  "  What  did  you  say? "  When  she  re- 
peated the  words  and  he  saw  the  same  look  in 
her  face  he  was  much  displeased. 

If  college  and  business  had  taught  him  any- 
thing it  was  to  be  guarded  in  expressing  his  opin- 
ions about  others.  One  of  his  ideals  for  his  wife 
had  been  that  she  must  be  fair  in  her  judgments. 
He  could  not  understand  why  Margaret — he  al- 
ways thought  of  her  as  Margaret  now — should 
speak  thus  of  Miss  Lincoln,  when  every  one  else 
had  only  good  words  for  her.  Was  she  so  nar- 
row that  some  little  personal  disagreement  would 
cause  her  to  retain  ill  feelings?  No,  he  could 
not  believe  that.  Then  was  there  some  real  rea- 
son why  she  should  speak  as  she  had?  Was  he 
mistaken  about  Miss  Lincoln?  He  was  loath  also 
to  believe  that.  His  mother  thought  Miss  Lin- 
coln almost  perfect;  indeed,  she  had  more  than 
once  said  to  him  that  Mary  would  make  a  lovely 
wife  for  some  man.    He  had  never  thought  of  her 


AN    UNFINISHED    STORY.  113 

in  that  light,  but  because  he  respected  her  so 
much  he  was  pained  to  hear  any  insinuations 
against  her. 

As  they  talked  about  other  things  many 
thoughts  of  the  incident  passed  quickly  through 
his  mind,  and  now,  as  he  looked  up,  he  noticed — 
or  thought  he  noticed — that  Margaret  did  not 
appear  quite  as  beautiful  as  she  had  at  dinner. 
They  talked  for  an  hour,  and  he  concluded  to 
put  off  that  other  business  until  some  future 
time.  Not  that  he  did  not  love  IMargaret  as 
much  as  ever,  but  somehow  he  did  not  feel  in 
just  the  right  humor.  So  when  the  clock  struck 
nine  he  left  his  good-night  for  her  mother,  and 
the  door  closed,  and  he  was  walking  down  the 
avenue. 

Upon  reaching  the  corner  he  turned  and  saw 
the  light  in  the  window.  Then,  as  he  went  on, 
he  thought  of  the  old  dreams;  he  saw  the  home 
again,  and  by  the  fireside  sat  Margaret — was  it 
Margaret?  Somehow  the  face  was  not  quite  as 
distinct  as  it  had  been,  and  yet  it  must  be  she. 

As  he  crossed  the  avenue  he  looked  back 
again.  He  was  not  sure  whether  it  was  Mar- 
garet's face  at  the  fireside,  but  just  then  he 
thought  of  her  goodness  and  beauty.  Why,  of 
course  it  was  she!  Of  course  he  loved  her! 
Nevertheless  the  face  at  the  fireside  was  not  so 
distinct  as  he  wished  it  were,  though  he  thought 
it  was  hers;  but  he  was  not  quite  sure. 

Charles  Amos  Andrews,  '95. 


AMHERST  SERENADE. 

G  B.  Churchill,  '89.  Tod  P.  Galloway,  '85. 


m 


=t:= 


Anda7ite  con  moto. 

J         ,^     ' 


1:  Sometliing  in     tliis 
^   2.  Stuiul-iug   ill     thy 

g-  I  '^      I        _^     ■ 


sum  -  nier    iiiglit       Leads    my     rr)v    -  ing      will, 
gar   -  (leu     shrine.      Love,      I        plead    with   thee. 


^Z^SELttE 


^ 


tJ 


^^rfS 


^^ 


^ 


^f — ' — y-ri Ui 


Something  in      the  soft  moon  light  Kee:  s  me  near  thee  still: 
See  -   est  thou  these  How'rs  of  thine  How  thev  plead  for  me  ? 


Here,    what  late      I        dared  not    say.         All     my    heart  doth 
Lil     -      V      nev  -  er       t;i<l      la  -  meiit       Men  should  find  it 


long, 
fair, 


AMHERST  SERENADE.— Co»i<mMfrf. 


La      -     (ly      dear,      this    iiijrht    I        may — 
Itosc      (lid     iiev     -     er       yet       re;    -  peiir, 


rat^ttan 


Breathe    to    thee         in        sonj;. 
O    -    -     dors  flun;r      to         air. 

J         _N    hJ      ^ 


^ 


-g^im — m- 


dim. 


rallent. 


aiP 


tt^ 


i_ — -c — >=r  t^_: c^:=^ — U 


Tempo  prima. 


:t- 


=^=tr-= 


3.  There    a  -  mid      thy  dreams,  my  sweet,  Keep  one  thoiiiiht  of 


AMHERST  SKRENAT>K.—Co7icluded. 

Poco  tnosso. 


■a — ^  -o  - 


E=fEe^^^fe"=^ 


As,  while  all      my     nights  speed  by,  Thou  .irt  al  -  ways 

--1 ?• I h- 


i ?» 1 ^-^ \ —?i 1 nfi 1 ==?-*— S — 3 


tempo.      ^     ral  -  len  -  tan  -  do.  /~. 


// 


mine. 

I  ^     I 


«^ 


-■'-■'- 


ritard.  pp 

^ — I  <ig 


-t* — i-'^-mi-d ^    a^    t^ 


m^^ 


SABRINA. 

It  is  confidently  believed  that  Sabrina  has  sur- 
vived all  the  indignities  of  her  strange  and  check- 
ered career,  and  reached  that  high  station  to 
which  her  divine  nature  entitles  her.  We  see  now 
that  her  vicissitudes  were  due  to  the  fact  tliat 
she  was  not  understood.  She  was  compelled^ 
through  no  fault  of  her  own,  to  act  out  of  char- 
acter. Whether  in  shadowy  legend  or  in  more 
tangible  bronze,  it  is  Sabrina's  evident  vocation 
to  be  a  guardian  divinity;  why  else  was  her  pro- 
totype  drowned  in  the  river  Severn  except  to 
become  thenceforth  a  nymph  and  a  myth,  and 
as  such  the  protectress  of  all  that  region? 

Before  our  Sabrina  was  drowned — this  time,, 
alas,  for  our  prosaic  age,  not  in  a  historic  river, 
but  in  the  College  well — her  ideas  how  to  set  up 
in  the  divinity  business  were  very  vague,  and  the 
whole  spirit  of  our  modern  time  was  against  her, 
though  she  did  her  best.  Her  first  handicap  was 
the  gross  unappreciativeness  of  men.  The  hon- 
ored benefactor  who  gave  her  to  the  College,  Mr. 
Joel  Hayden,  kindly  but  mistakenly  deemed  that 
her  vocation  was  to  occupy  a  pedestal  on  the 
campus,  a  vulgar  show  for  all  sorts  of  rude  gazers 
to  see.  Naturally  enough,  the  life  of  a  goddess 
in  such  a  position  could  not  run  smoothly.    For 


SABRINA. 
(As  she  presided  over  "  The  Garden.'') 


SABRINA.  119 

one  thing-,  she  was  dressed  too  cool  to  endure 
the  rigors  of  a  New  England  climate;  that  any 
one  ought  to  have  known.  It  was  pathetic  to  see 
how  from  time  to  time  she  would  cover  her  shiv- 
ering shoulders  with  shawls  and  wraps,  and  how 
when  these  were  not  forthcoming,  often  her  only 
coat  would  be  a  coat  of  paint.  Once  with  a  loy- 
alty truly  touching  she  encased  her  shapely  but 
freezing  limbs  with  striped  stockings  of  the  Am- 
herst purple-and-white.  This  revealed  how  deep- 
ly she  responded  to  college  sentiment;  and  that 
she  shared  in  college  sorrows,  too,  was  evident 
when,  after  some  athletic  defeat,  she  would  hide 
her  chagrin  by  burying  herself  to  the  neck  in  the 
ground,  or  plunging  head  first  into  a  barrel  of 
tar. 

All  this,  though  it  revealed  her  sympathizing 
heart,  was  far  enough  from  being  a  gracious  and 
protecting  goddess,  and,  indeed,  for  many  years 
the  nearest  approach  she  could  make  to  that  vo- 
cation was  as  a  kind  of  wet-nurse,  in  which  char- 
acter she  was  found  one  morning  holding  a  rag 
baby  labeled  '81.  This  piteous  display  of  her  ten- 
derness, however,  had  its  reward.  To  the  class  of 
'82  belongs  the  distinction  of  first  recognizing 
something  of  her  exalted  nature ;  and,  leaving  her 
bleak  station  on  the  campus,  at  their  solicitation, 
she  graced  their  class  banquet  in  New  Londoa 
though,  it  is  feared,  more  as  honorary  classmate 
than  as  divinity. 

In  fact,  she  was  neither  nymph  nor  myth  as 


I20  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

yet,  and  on  her  return  from  New  London  she  suf- 
fered worse  insuhs  than  ever.  Then  came  the 
drowning  and  the  long  season  of  gloom  in  Col- 
lege well;  afterward,  when  her  destruction  was 
decreed,  a  period  of  hiding  and  refuge  in  the 
merciful  Professor  Charlie's  barn;  at  some  time, 
also,  it  is  not  known  exactly  when,  several  years 
of  burial  under  a  townsman's  doorstep,  until  he 
sent  to  the  College  treasurer,  saying:  "  Come 
and  get  your  goddess."  All  this,  as  we  now  see, 
was  merely  her  necessary  training.  Like  her 
prototype,  she  had  to  be  drowned  in  order  to  en- 
ter the  nymph  state,  and,  as  Lord  Bacon  says. 
"  it  is  by  indignities  that  men  (and  perhaps 
nymphs  also)  come  to  dignities."  At  any  rate, 
having  survived  all  these  experiences,  she  has 
reached  the  exalted  station  wherein  she  is  at 
once  a  divinity  and  a  myth;  appearing  on  earth 
at  rare  intervals,  in  such  gracious  guise  as  to 
rouse  the  most  enthusiastic  class  spirit,  then  van- 
ishing, her  very  existence  a  problem,  her  where- 
abouts, if  she  has  any,  known  perhaps  only  to  a 
few,  or  even  one  favored  devotee. 

As  a  myth,  too,  she  has  thus  far  fulfilled  all  the 
requirements  nobly.  Matter-of-fact  people  will 
tell  you  that  she  was  discovered  and  apotheosized 
by  '88,  by  them  handed  down  to  '90,  from  whom 
she  was  stolen  by  '91.  They  will  even  tell  the 
story  how  a  drayman,  leaving  her  only  a  minute 
carelessly  while  he  went  into  the  house  to  get 
his  overcoat,  found,  to  his  dismay,  on  returning. 


SABRINA.  121 

that  the  occupants  of  a  buggy  whisking  by  had 
abstracted  her  in  a  twinkling  from  his  wagon 
and  were  off  to  the  woods.  That  night  the  ban- 
queters of  '90  had  to  dispense  with  her  benign 
presence.  From  '91  she  was  duly  inherited  by 
'93,  only  to  be  stolen  again  by  watchful  members 
of  '94.  Ever  since  then,  in  fact,  she  has  been 
"  stolen  property,"  subject  every  year  to  legal 
demands  and  prying  detectives,  and  writs  of  re- 
plevin have  followed  her  to  this  day.  This  is 
the  way  her  history  looks  to  prosaic  eyes;  but 
when  it  is  said  that  a  goddess  and  a  full-fledged 
myth  submits  to  so  ignoble  a  fate  as  to  be  stolen 
we  ought  by  this  time  to  know  how  to  interpret 
it. 

The  subsequent  history  of  Sabrina  is  just  that 
baffling  mixture  of  fancy  and  fact,  of  poetry  and 
prose,  that  characterizes  every  myth.  After  a 
little  flash  of  her  divinity  at  the  banquet  of  '94 
she  vanished,  and  rested  a  whole  year,  the  pros- 
ers  say,  in  a  cold-storage  warehouse  in  Boston. 
It  was  a  year  of  acute  rivalry  between  '95  and 
'96  as  to  who  should  ultimately  possess  her. 
When  '96,  who  had  the  promise  of  her  presence 
at  their  Freshman  banquet,  surmounted  the 
strenuous  efforts  of  '95  to  prevent  their  going, 
and  were  started  for  Greenfield,  their  train  was 
boarded  by  a  number  of  Sophomores,  who,  how- 
ever, were  foiled  when  the  classes  changed  cars 
and  were  sent  off  in  the  wrong  direction.  Dis- 
covering their  mistake  and  arriving  at  Greenfield 


122  AiV  AMHERST  BOOK. 

too  late  for  the  banquet,  these  men  of  '95  ob- 
tained a  search-warrant,  climbed  up  by  ladders  to 
a  roof,  whence  they  could  look  into  the  ban- 
quet room,  and  were  sure  that  the  ice  canister  at 
the  head  of  the  table  was  Sabrina.  They  were 
wrong;  Sabrina  never  was  at  Greenfield.  It  is  a 
very  comfortable  thing,  sometimes,  to  be  a  myth. 
At  the  Sophomore  banquet,  however,  which 
was  held  in  Nashua,  Sabrina  beamed  upon  the 
class  of  '96  in  all  her  glory — for  forty  rapturous 
minutes.  Then  she  disappeared,  to  seek  her  fit- 
ting sphere;  though  the  prosaist  steps  in  again 
here  with  his  trumpery  story  of  a  dray  rumbling 
oflf  to  the  town  of  Mason  in  the  middle  of  a  zero 
night,  with  seven  hundred  pounds  of  bronze 
statue,  and  reaching  its  destination  at  half-past 
six  in  the  morning.  That  same  unimaginative 
historian  would  doubtless  tell  you  that  she  had 
come  from  Boston  to  Nashua  packed  as  sleight- 
of-hand  utensils  belonging  to  Comical  Brown. 
Nay,  he  would  go  still  further  back  and  tell  you 
that,  on  account  of  the  watchfulness  of  '95  and 
a  reward  offered  by  the  American  Express  Com- 
pany, her  retreat  in  the  cold-storage  warehouse 
had  some  time  before  become  very  insecure,  and 
that,  evading  her  keen  pursuers  by  only  a  few 
hours,  she  had  stowed  herself  away  among  the 
sausages  of  a  sausage  manufactory,  from  which 
place  it  was  that  she  went  to  Nashua.  Thus  it  is 
that  the  aerial  journeys  of  a  goddess  appear  to 
those  whose  souls  lack  poetry.    She  certainly  will 


SABRIiVA.  123 

never  be  less  a  myth  to  those  who  accept  the 
sausage  theory. 

At  Mason,  so  the  prosaic  history  runs,  she 
rested  three  days  in  a  grape  cellar.  Then  one 
night,  the  proprietor  of  the  cellar  never  knew 
how,  she  disappeared,  and  thereafter  rested  long 
and  securely  in  an  attic  away  off  in  another  part 
of  the  town.  It  was  while  she  was  here  that  the 
proverbial  "  woman  in  the  case  "  disturbed  her 
security  again  and  caused  her  once  more  to  take 
flight.  As  two  Amherst  class  presidents  hap- 
pened to  be  talking  with  a  Smith  student,  at  a 
reception  in  Northampton,  the  young  lady  as- 
serted with  the  utmost  assurance  that  she  knew 
of  Sabrina's  whereabouts,  and  for  a  wonder 
named  the  exact  place.  The  way  she  had  got  at 
it,  through  an  intricate  labyrinth  of  college  cor- 
respondents, best  girls,  fond  mothers,  and  coun- 
try sewing  circles,  none  of  whom  knew  the  real 
truth  of  the  matter,  betrayed  powers  of  con- 
jecture and  inference  worthy  of  Sherlock  Holmes 
himself.  And  the  information  happened  to  be 
just  what  one  of  the  class  presidents  knew  and 
the  other  was  eagerly  in  search  of.  So  Sabrina 
must  flee  again,  this  time  to  rest  well  guarded, 
though  subject  still  to  keen  detective  inquiries, 
in  a  little  town  of  Western  New  York.  Here  it 
was  comparatively  easy  to  evade  the  watchful 
eyes  of  '97,  and  when  it  came  time  for  '98  to  in- 
herit her  presence,  an  elderly  business  man,  who 
was  much  accustomed  to  transport  machinery, 


124  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

could  very  conveniently  take  her  to  a  spot 
whence  she  could  be  transferred  to  the  next  class 
supper. 

Sabrina's  latest  appearance  on  earth  was  in 
January,  1896,  at  the  Sophomore  class  banquet 
in  Bennington,  Vermont.  She  seems  destined 
now  to  manifest  her  favor  to  the  even-numbered 
classes,  though  no  one  can  forecast  the  future. 
And  ever  since  her  bath  in  the  College  well  in- 
ducted her,  like  the  maid  of  the  Severn,  into 
nymphhood,  she  has,  with  the  years,  grown  more 
mysterious,  more  mythical.  Where  is  Sabrina? 
is  still  the  unanswered  question;  a  question  round 
which  cluster  more  rumors  and  rivalries,  more 
fancies  and  schemes  and  class  enthusiasms  than 
attach  to  any  other  college  topic. 

Charles  J.  Staples,  '96, 
and  John  F.  Genung. 


THE  MONUMENT  OE  RIGHT. 

Shout  the  joys  of  Hfe,  ye  Moderns! 

Shout  the  joys  of  Hfe  to-day! 
When  the  world  is  full  of  progress, 

Peaceful  in  the  breath  of  May. 

Shout  that  as  mankind  advances 

Out  of  darkness  into  light, 
You  may  carve  another  motto 

On  the  monument  of  right! 

Chiseled  first  by  Grecian  freedom, 

Then  by  Roman  equity. 
Soon  it  spoke  in  living  emblems 

Dyed  for  conscience-liberty. 

Now  it  towers  in  simple  grandeur, 
Splendid  with  the  light  of  age, 

Motloed  by  a  hundred  precepts, 
Thrilled  with  mighty  justice-rage. 

Still  behold  one  markless  surface. 
Near  the  column's  haloed  head; 

There  inscribe  this  sacred  maxim, 
Which  shall  live  till  right  is  dead : 

"  Wealth  is  only  accidental 

Standing  not  for  highest  worth; 

Man  is  man  if  he  has  manhood, 
Spite  of  fortune,  skill  or  birth!  " 

William  L.  Corbin,  '96. 


T^WHERST  IN   1575. 

The  accompanying  cut  of  the  college  build- 
ings reproduces  a  photograph  taken  in  1875  from 
the  roof  of  the  Library.  The  two  buildings  ac- 
quired since  i860  both  appear — Walker  Hill  on 
the  left  and  the  College  Church,  showing  its  spire 
just  above  the  end  of  East  College. 

The  fund  for  the  erection  of  Walker  Hall  was 
estabHshed  by  Dr.  W.  G.  Walker,  of  Charlestown. 
In  order  to  provide  a  suitable  site  for  the  pro- 
posed building,  the  Boltwood  estate,  a  strip  ot 
land  on  the  north  side  of  the  college  grounds, 
was  purchased.  The  cornerstone  was  laid  in 
1863,  but  not  until  1870  was  the  building  com- 
pleted. The  material  was  Monson  granite, 
trimmed  with  brown  sandstone,  and  the  archi- 
tecture was  that  known  as  the  revised  mediaeval. 
The  building  was  by  far  the  most  magnificent 
structure  the  College  boasted,  having  cost  nearly 
as  much  as  the  aggregate  of  all  the  other  build- 
ings erected  up  to  that  time.  The  departments 
of  mathematics,  physics,  astronomy  and  min- 
eralogy found  quarters  there,  besides  the  offices 
of  the  President,  treasurer,  registrar,  and  college 
pastor.  The  Shepard  collection  of  minerals, 
among  the  most  valuable  in  the  country,  oc- 
cupied the  entire  third  floor.    At  about  the  time 


128  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

of  the  erection  of  Walker  Hall  a  large  sum,  near- 
ly equal  to  the  original  cost  of  the  building,  was 
spent  in  making  needed  repairs  in  the  chapel. 
The  only  evidence  of  this  that  appears  in  the  pic- 
ture is  the  railing  on  top  of  the  tower,  which  re- 
placed the  old  decoration. 

In  1867  the  trustees  purchased  the  abandoned 
meeting-house  of  the  First  Congregational 
Church, — the  second  building  owned  by  the  so- 
ciety,— and  rebuilt  it  into  College  Hall.  Tradi- 
tion says  the  remodelHng  took  away  much  of  its 
ugliness.  We  wonder,  but  are  not  tempted  to 
imagine,  what  it  could  have  looked  like  in  the 
original. 

The  College  Church  was  completed  at  about 
the  time  of  the  semi-centennial.  The  edifice  em- 
bodied the  idea  that  the  College  might  "  hold  the 
religious  services  of  the  Sabbath,  as  other 
churches  do,  in  a  retired,  consecrated  Sabbath 
home,  from  which  all  the  studies  and  distractions 
of  the  week  should  be  excluded,  and  where  the 
suggestions  of  the  place  should  assist  us  to  gather 
in  our  thoughts,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  sacred 
silence  to  confer  with  God."  The  chief  donor 
was  the  late  William  F.  Stearns,  son  of  President 
Stearns.  For  a  long  time  the  selection  of  the 
proper  site  for  the  new  building  was  a  very  per- 
plexing question.  The  trustees  finally  accepted 
the  unanimous  advice  of  architects  and  profes- 
sional landscape  gardeners,  and  chose  the  spot 
at  the  eastern  edge  of  the  campus,  just  behind 


AMHERST  IN  1873.  129 

East  College.  \\^hen  the  old  dormitory  was  de- 
molished later  the  beautiful  church  stood  forth 
on  its  eminence,  a  testimonial  to  the  wisdom  of 
the  advice  given  and  accepted.  Any  one  who 
has  ever  attended  an  open-air  vesper  ser\nce  held 
on  the  green  knoll  in  the  rear  of  the  church  ap- 
preciates the  choice  of  location.  It  is  the  most 
beautiful  spot  m  our  beautiful  Amherst.  Across 
the  green  valley,  dotted  with  white  farmhouses, 
rise  the  gently-rolling  Pelham  Hills,  ever  chang- 
ing in  color — green  or  golden,  purple  or  ruddy — 
according  to  the  season  and  the  magic  touch  of 
the  sun.  And  the  quiet  of  the  place  is  perfect. 
The  note  of  a  bird  or  the  rustle  of  the  leaves 
alone  breaks  the  Sabbath  stillness,  and  even  the 
birds  and  breezes  seem  to  have  a  tone  of  rever- 
ence. 

Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97. 


JULIUS  HAWLEY  SEELYE. 


JULIUS  HAW^EV  SEELYE. 

Colleges  change.  College  presidents  change 
with  them.  The  heads  of  our  larger  institutions  of 
learning  were  once  selected  because  they  were 
scholars.  They  are  chosen  to-day  because  they 
are  men  of  afifairs,  or  believed  to  be  such.  They 
were  once  expected  to  attract  students.  They 
are  now  expected  to  attract  endowments.  When 
President  Seelye  resigned,  in  1890,  he  was  well 
nigh  the  only  man  at  the  head  of  an  institution 
as  large  as  Amherst  College  who  owed  his  rela- 
tion primarily  to  his  eminence  as  a  scholar  and 
his  intellectual  power  as  an  original  thinker, 
rather  than  to  his  ability  as  a  man  of  affairs. 
Man  of  affairs  he  was,  but  death  found  him  in 
many  senses,  perhaps  in  all,  the  last  of  that  great 
line  of  clerical  educators,  who,  from  Jonathan 
Edwards,  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  to 
]\Iark  Hopkins,  in  the  middle  of  this  century, 
have  molded  the  ideals,  the  intellection  and  the 
education  of  New  England  and  the  country. 

President  Seelye  had  all  the  strength  and  many 
of  the  limitations  of  the  men  of  this  mighty  suc- 
cession. Its  share  in  developing  the  higher 
thought  of  the  American  people  will  be  better 
appreciated  a  century  hence  than  it  is  likely  to  be 
to-day,  when  new  demands  have  made  new  en- 
dowments the   first  need   of  colleges  and   their 


132  AA-    AMHERST  BOOK. 

material  prosperity  the  popular  measure  of  their 
success.  Educated  in  Germany  while  Kant  and 
Hegel  still  reigned  supreme,  President  Seelye 
represented  in  the  luminous  and  stimulating 
teaching,  which  he  gave  to  successive  classes  for 
thirty  years,  a  transcendental  idealism,  which  was 
the  natural  outcome  of  the  adaptation  of  the 
Kantian  philosophy  to  the  needs  and  thought 
of  men  trained  in  the  stricter  traditions  of  New 
England  theology. 

But  with  men  like  President  Seelye,  as  with 
his  predecessors  in  the  same  field  and  work,  his 
precise  explanation  and  teaching  were  of  far  less 
consequence  than  the  man  and  his  message.  The 
method  of  metaphysics  will  vary  with  every  age. 
In  the  interpretation  of  life  every  teacher,  and  in 
the  end  every  man,  must  choose  between  the 
assertion  of  the  spiritual  and  unseen  as  ultimate 
law  and  guide,  or  the  acceptance  of  the  known, 
the  recorded  and  the  undemonstrated  as  map- 
ping and  environing  all  of  life.  It  was  the  high 
and  extraordinary  mission  of  President  Seelye, 
in  a  day  and  generation  when  the  whirl  and  clat- 
ter of  scientific  discovery  induced  other  currents 
and  other  tendencies,  to  assert  with  unfaltering 
trust  and  unshaken  belief  the  conviction  that  the 
dominant  impulse  and  development  of  humanity 
made  for  things  spiritual,  unseen  and  eternal. 

No  man  can  do  more  for  his  day  than  this.  It 
fell  to  President  Seelye  to  stand  in  many  hu- 
man relations.    He  was  seventeen  years  professor 


JULIUS  HA  IVLE  V  SEEL  YE.  133 

and  thirteen  president.  He  served  in  Congress 
with  distinction,  and  showed  there  supreme  de- 
votion to  principle  as  he  conceived  it.  His  pub- 
lished works  played  each  its  important  part  in 
its  own  field.  In  his  term  as  president  he  doub- 
led the  endowment  of  Amherst.  He  originated 
a  new  method  of  college  discipline  by  an  appeal 
to  honor  and  self-government,  which  has  been 
widely  miitated  and  has  in  all  institutions  modi- 
fied old  methods. 

But  his  real  work  was  in  the  class-room.  There 
he  awoke  impulse  and  conviction  that  lasted 
through  life.  His  pupils,  scattered  in  life's  work 
in  cities,  in  country  manses  and  offices,  in  solitary 
mission  stations,  think  not  of  his  honors  and 
offices,  of  his  books  or  his  fame.  There  rises  be- 
fore them  the  gaunt  figure  of  the  man,  his  sub- 
tle, earnest  and  illumined  face,  and  they  hear 
once  more  his  deep  inspiring  voice  pleading  in 
the  Babel  of  the  world's  duties — conflicting,  con- 
fusing and  constraining — for  the  still  small  voice 
of  the  Spirit,  for  a  supreme  allegiance  to  the 
sense  of  duty  which  is  from  everlasting  to  ever- 
lasting, and  for  a  serene  confidence  that  for  the 
righteous  it  shall  be  ever  and  always  well,  be- 
cause in  a  righteous  hand  are  all  things  ordered 
and  uplifted.* 

Talcott  Williams,  '73- 


♦Reprinted,  with  revision,    from     fhe     Philadelphia 
Press  of  May  14,  1895. 


PEANUT  JOHM. 

For  the  most  part,  peanut  venders  are  rather  a 
dry  lot.  Whatever  savor  they  bring  of  clear 
skies,  and  sunny  lands,  and  historic  rivers,  seems 
starved  and  mummified  by  the  eternal  conscious- 
ness of  the  scramble  for  existence.  One,  indeed, 
I  knew,  with  his  red  stand  on  the  dusty  corner  of 
a  city  street,  who  tried  with  cheery  patience  to 
teach  my  juvenile  wits  how  to  read  his  Italian 
newspaper.  But  such  as  he  are  rare  enough; 
they  stand  on  an  eminence  apart  from  all  their 
kind,  and  chief  among  them,  for  all  that  makes 
simple  manhood,  is  "  Peanut  John  "  IMusante. 

To  see  his  slow,  lumbering,  though  not  exactly 
dignified  gait,  as  he  wanders  about  town,  or  to 
watch  him  as  he  sits  in  his  "  store,"  sleepily  turn- 
ing the  crank  of  his  peanut-roaster,  to  the  dron- 
ing accompaniment  of  an  accordion,  playing  Ital- 
ian airs,  one  would  think  him  the  personification 
of  repose — the  antithesis  of  our  American  spirit 
of  hurry.  But  in  the  presence  oi  a  champion- 
ship game — whai  a  transformation!  All  the 
phlegmatic  inertness  vanishes.  Not  a  Freshman 
watches  the  play  more  eagerly,  not  a  man  cheers 
louder,  or  throws  his  hat  higher  than  Peanut 
John. 

Fourteen  years  have  passed  since  John  came  to 


PEANUT  JOHN. 


136  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

Amherst,  and  his  conquest  of  the  student  heart 
was  long  ago  complete.  His  monopoly  of  the 
peanut  business  is  absolute.  He  still  occupies 
the  little,  underground  basement  that  he  rented 
when  he  came  to  town — now,  as  always,  half 
filled  with  empty  orange  crates  and  big  sacks 
of  peanuts.  The  idea  of  progress,  with  its  bale- 
ful discontent,  has  never  troubled  his  tranquil 
existence.  I  fear  John  knows  nothing  at  all 
about  the  grim  laws  of  competition.  Observe  the 
extra  handful  of  peanuts  that  goes  into  your 
pocket  with  every  nickel's  worth  you  buy.  Note 
the  orange  thrown  in  with  each  purchase  by  a 
student  acquaintance,  and  then  know  one  reason 
why  John's  business  has  not  outgrown  its  mod- 
est accommodations,  but  know  also  the  reason 
for  John's  monopoly,  and  for  his  hold  on  the  Am- 
herst heart.  There  is  a  story  that  once  a  com- 
mon "  Dago  "  came  up  from  New  York,  set  up 
a  stand  and  tried  to  undersell  him,  but  the  boys 
rallied  around  John,  refused  his  rival  admittance 
to  the  big  games,  and  at  length  forced  the  in- 
truder to  depart,  after  a  brief,  boycotted  exist- 
ence. 

Nothing  pleases  John  better  than  to  have  a 
student  drop  in  of  an  evening  for  a  little  chat. 
He  is  always  full  of  talk  about  Italy.  A  patriotic 
son  of  Genoa,  and  a  fellow-townsman  of  Colum- 
bus, he  is  proud  of  his  birthplace,  and  ready  any 
time  to  throw^  up  his  hat  for  the  glory  of  the 
fatherland.      Nevertheless,   his  praise   is   not  al- 


PEANUT  JOHN.  137 

together  an  unmixed  and  indiscriminate  hyper- 
bole.   He  admits  that  Italy  has  one  drawback. 

'*  It's  all  right,"  he  told  me  with  great  earnest- 
ness. "  Goota  place,  goota  land,  goota  people — 
all  goot — but,''  and  his  voice  dropped  to  a  con- 
fidential note,  "  worka  like  a  jackass!" 

"  They  not  pay  'nough,"  he  explained.  "  Work 
all  day;  get  twenta-five — thirta  cent!  You  geta 
shoe,  geta  pant,  geta  coat,  geta  shirt — all  gone! 
Nothin'  to  eat !  Then  you  geta  fam'ly — "  but  the 
situation  was  beyond  the  powers  of  John's  Eng- 
lish, and  he  supplied  the  ellipsis  with  a  graphic 
wave  of  his  hand. 

When  John  went  to  be  photographed,  he  in- 
sisted, in  spite  of  most  urgent  remonstrances, 
on  wearing  a  white  shirt  and  starched  collar  in 
place  of  the  old,  familiar  black  sweater.  With 
this  single  exception  the  accompanying  picture  of 
him  and  his  basket  of  peanuts  is  thoroughly 
characteristic.  It  is  no  mean  advantage  of  tar- 
rying four  years  in  this  little  bubbling  back- 
water from  the  high  seas  of  life,  that  sometimes 
we  eddy  into  contact  with  souls  so  simple  and 
honest  and  unselfish  as  "  Peanut  John "  Mu- 
sante — upon  whom  we  hereby  confer  the  degree 
of  "  Nature's  Gentleman." 

ARCHIB.\LD   L.    Bouton,  '96. 


HEP  LIGHT  C.IHTAP. 

Her  light  guitar  she  softly  plays, 
With  the  sweetest  witching  little  ways 
Of  smiling  at  me,  as  I  lie 
Admiring  her,  and  vainly  try 
To  still  the  heart  her  beauty  sways. 

Her  graceful  form  the  fire's  red  rays 
Encircle  with  a  maddening  maze 
Of  mellow  light — the  red  flames  dye 
Her  light  guitar! 

I  would  I  knew  a  lover's  lays 

To  sing  her  now,  while  glad  she  stays 

Her  song  to  make  me  soft  reply; 

I  rave — for  riches,  love  and  I 
Uncared  for  are,  whene'er  she  plays 
Her  light  guitar! 

L.  C.  Stone,  '96. 


THE  MEASURE  OE  A  MAN. 


Popularity  with  the  swell  set  in  college,  like  ul- 
tra-fashionable society  in  New  York,  "  is  a  para- 
dise, at  least  to  the  extent  of  having  an  angel 
with  flaming  sword  to  guard  its  entrance."  Some- 
times it  is  to  good  looks  and  an  amiable  dispo- 
sition that  this  sword  is  lowered;  sometimes  to 
intellect;  more  often  to  athletic  ability;  occa- 
sionally, it  must  be  admitted,  it  is  lowered,  but 
never  obsequiously,  to  the  shining  talisman  of 
riches. 

Now,  Arthur  Woodbury  represented  these 
four  things.  He  was  rich,  he  was  clever,  he  had 
a  prepossessing  appearance,  and  he  could  run  a 
certain  distance  upon  the  cinder  track  in  several 
seconds  less  time  than  any  other  man  in  col- 
lege. In  consideration  of  these  qualifications,  as 
he  advanced  in  his  course,  he  was  taken  up  with 
enthusiasm  by  the  college  swells,  and  was  at 
length  received  into  that  inner  circle  of  the  elect 
whose  badge  of  membership  makes  it  possible  for 
a  Senior  to  dress  like  a  "  poco  "  and  behave  like 
a  Bowery  "  gent,"  if  he  cares,  and  still  retain  an 
unquestioned  social  pre-eminence.  Woodbury, 
however,  did  neither  of  these  things.  On  the 
contrary,  his  taste  in  clothes  was  §o  fastidious 
and  his  habitual  demeanor  so  reserved  and  cor- 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A  MAN.  141 

rect  that  his  fellows  came  to  regard  him  as  a 
sort  of  embryo  Chesterfield.  His  physical  cour- 
age and  strong  mental  character  being  undenia- 
ble, this  could  not  be  scored  as  a  point  against 
him.  Rather,  it  increased  the  nameless  fascina- 
tion which  he  held  for  all  of  his  acquaintances. 
He  was  a  man  with  a  liking  for  the  society  of 
ladies,  and  naturally  enough  was  immensely  pop- 
ular with  them.  There  was  a  quality  in  his  looks, 
his  speech  and  his  manner  which  could  not  but 
impress  a  girl;  something  conspicuous  and  nat- 
urally eminent,  which  invested  his  most  trifling 
word  and  act  with  the  stamp  of  his  personality. 
He  was  strong  and  lithe  and  mascuHne,  and  his 
iine,  serious  eyes  had  a  very  compeUing  glance. 
It  followed  inevitably  that  he  should  become  a 
favorite  in  feminine  circles.  But  he  was  not  open 
to  the  charge  of  being  a  mere  gay  Lothario;  his 
solid  qualities  were  too  prominent  for  that.  His 
enemies — he  had  a  few  of  them,  as  all  men  of 
strong  characters  must  have — found  him  a  hard 
man  to  pick  flaws  in.  One  or  two  youths,  who 
resented  his  exclusiveness,  were  accustomed  to 
say  his  chief  fault  was  that  he  had  none  of  the 
palpable  human  weaknesses  which  were  always 
cropping  out  in  his  fellows.  "  His  virtues  pall 
upon  me,"  one  young  man  complained.  "  They  ir- 
ritate me.  Everything  he  does  is  so  altogether 
suitable  and  desirable.  He  is  abe  lely  self-cen- 
tered. He  never  couM  '  led  himself 
to  be  what  he  '                                    t  care.     His 


142  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

very  simplicity  is  the  highest  art.  He  never  re- 
fers to  himself  or  his  opinion,  but  in  order  not  to 
he  is  obliged  never  to  forget  himself  one  single 
minute." 

These  few  detracting  tongues,  however, 
wagged  harmlessly  enough.  The  object  of  their 
dislike  was  too  firmly  seated  in  the  universal  re- 
gard to  be  affected  by  them. 

At  the  time  when  Woodbury  became  a  Senioi 
at  Amity,  a  young  man  named  Bagley  entered 
the  Freshman  class.  As  it  happened,  the  two 
were  old  acquaintances.  They  hailed  from  the 
same  town,  where  Woodbury's  father  owned  a 
large  manufacturing  business,  and  Bagley's 
father  was  the  local  physician.  The  families  had 
been  somewhat  intimate,  and  it  naturally  hap- 
pened that  when  the  eldest  scion  of  the  one  went 
away  to  college  the  sole  member  of  his  genera- 
tion in  the  other  took  a  deep  interest  in  following 
the  incidents  in  his  career.  From  time  to  time 
news  came  to  the  village  of  Woodbury's  success; 
he  had  made  the  athletic  team;  he  was  singing 
on  the  glee  club;  he  had  received  a  term  mark 
of  four.  When  at  length  Bagley  himself  went  up 
to  college,  his  old  acquaintances  had  become  a 
person  of  such  prominence  that  the  Freshman 
was  conscious  of  a  vague  feeling  of  excitement 
at  the  prospect  of  meeting  him  once  more.  They 
had  not  seen  each  other  in  two  years,  both  hav- 
ing been  absent  from  town  during  the  vacations 

Their  first  encounter  took  place  about  a  week 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A  MAN.  143 

after  the  opening  of  the  term.  Bagley  reahzed 
when  it  was  over  that  \\'oodbiiry  was  not  glad 
to  see  him  at  Amity.  Strange  as  it  may  seem, 
after  his  first  pangs  of  wounded  pride  at  this  dis- 
covery were  past,  he  did  not  harbor  any  lasting 
feeling  of  bitterness  against  the  Senior.  He  had 
too  low  an  estimate  of  his  own  qualities,  and  too 
high  a  one  of  Woodbury's  to  feel  that  intimacy 
could  naturally  exist  between  them  except  by  the 
latter's  gracious  condescension.  Who  was  he 
that  the  great  man  should  make  him  his  friend? 
They  had  known  each  other  in  former  days,  to 
be  sure,  but  that  fact,  unless  backed  by  present 
worth  and  fitness  on  his  part,  did  not  constitute 
for  him  a  valid  claim  to  Woodbury's  regard.  "  If 
I  were  in  his  place,  and  he  in  mine,"  Bagley  rea- 
soned, with  a  humility  possible  only  to  a  Fresh- 
man dazzled  by  the  unique  lustre  of  an  upper- 
class  hero,  "  I  know  I  should  feel  exactly  as  he 
does." 

But  if  the  Freshman  was  frank  enough  to  ad- 
mit to  himself  that  he  was  a  person  of  small  im- 
portance, he  was  by  no  means  so  weak  as  to  be 
willing  to  remain  one.  Deep  in  his  heart  he  har- 
bored an  ambition  and  a  determination  which 
thrilled  his  whole  being  with  their  intensity.  He 
would  yet  prove  himself  worthy  of  the  consid- 
eration now  refused  him.  He  would  show  Wood- 
bury— yes,  and  the  whole  College! — that  there 
were  in  him  the  possibilities  of  a  strong  man,  if 
not  of  a  brilliant  one.    To  make  the  most  of  everv 


144  ^A"  AMHERST  BOOK. 

least  quality  and  ability  which  he  possessed — that 
was  the  purpose  which  filled  him. 

In  the  endeavor  to  carry  out  this  determina- 
tion he  tried  for  the  glee  club,  and  missed  it. 
His  voice  was  a  very  ordinary  one.  Then  he 
came  out  and  played  football  on  the  second 
eleven.  He  had  no  possibility  of  development 
as  a  player,  but  nobody  cared  enough  abovit  him 
or  his  ambitions  to  tell  him  so.  Day  after  day 
he  turned  out  in  his  torn  and  bloody  uniform, 
and  was  batted  about  and  knocked  down  and 
trampled  upon  until  his  body  was  a  pitiful  mass 
of  bruises.  All  this  he  endured  with  the  most 
persistent  cheerfulness  and  patience,  in  the  mis- 
taken belief  that  he  was  laying  the  foundation  for 
pre-eminence  in  football  during  the  later  years 
of  his  course. 

When  the  season  was  over  he  devoted  himeslf 
to  study.  He  purchased  an  alarm  clock,  and  by 
its  aid  cheated  himself  every  morning  of  several 
hours  of  necessary  sleep.  At  night  his  lamp  was 
almost  invariably  the  last  one  in  the  dormitory 
to  be  extinguished.  The  results  of  this  unnatural 
expenditure  of  energy  were  meagre  in  the  ex- 
treme. He  had  no  genius  for  books;  there  was 
nothing  of  the  scholar  about  him.  He  consoled 
himself,  however,  with  the  reflection  that  his 
failure  was  due  in  part  to  a  poor  fit,  and  when 
spring  term  opened  he  renewed  the  uneven  strug- 
gle and  the  drain  upon  his  health  without  the 
slightest  abatement  of  courage  or  determination. 


146  AN  A  MHERS  T  BO  OK. 

Meanwhile,  he  did  not  cease  to  regard  Wood- 
bury as  his  pattern  of  perfection,  his  ideal  of  all 
that  a  college  man  should  be.  His  interest  in 
the  Senior  was  continually  making  itself  mani- 
fest to  others.  He  betrayed  it  in  the  lecture 
room,  during  those  recitations  at  which  members 
of  all  the  classes  were  present,  by  the'  cat-like  per- 
sistency with  w'hich  he  watched  .\yoodbury's 
every  movement.  During  the  track  athletic  sea- 
son "he  made  frequent  visits  to  the  field  and  saw 
Woodbury  do  his  daily  turn  upon '  the  cinder 
path,  secretly  taking  his  time,  whenever  possible, 
with  a  stronger  solicitude  for  his  progress  and 
final  success  than  the  runner  himself  could  have 
felt-  Junior  ?j-6m.  night  he  bought  a  ticket  to 
the  gymnasium  gallery,  inspired "therfito  chiefly 
by' the  knowledge  that  his  hero-was  to  be  upon 
the  floor.  He  experienced  a^ositive  thrill  of  de- 
light when  he  heard  severaLtipper-class  men  near 
him  declare  that  the  girl  whom  Woodbury  had 
brought  was  the  *'  stunner  "  of  the  occasion.  He 
could  not  have  been  more  glad  if  he  had  brought 
her  himself. 

On  a  warm  June  morning,  at  one  of  the 
"finals,"  Bagley  occupied  a  chair  off  the  center 
aisle  of  the  recitation-room.  Woodbury  hap- 
pened to  sit  directly  opposite.  For  more  than 
an  hour,  while  wrestling  with  the  questions  be- 
fore hinij  the  J^reshman  remained  obHvious  of  all 
that  was  going  on  in.  the  room.  But  suddenly, 
as  he  gazed  meditatively  at  the  back  of  the  man 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A  MAN.  147 

in  front  of  him,  he  heard  a  sound  resembHng  a 
gasp  from  some  one  on  his  right.  He  turned 
his  head  just  in  time  to  see  a  bit  of  white  paper 
flutter  softly  down  to  the  floor  in  the  middle  of 
the  aisle.  It  was  all  written  over  with  a  fine,  reg- 
ular penmanship.  Bagley  perceived  this,  and  at 
once  understood  the  meaning  of  the  sound  he 
had  heard.  The  paper  was  a  crib,  and  it  had  es- 
caped from  Woodbury's  hand. 

Numberless  thoughts  went  through  the  Fresh- 
man's brain  in  an  instant  of  time.  Then  the  in- 
structor, who  had  not  seen  the  paper  fall,  turned 
his  head  and  caught  sight  of  it.  As  he  rose  and 
walked  slowly  down  the  aisle  the  students  looked 
up  at  him  expectantly.  Bagley  alone  had  wit- 
nessed the  accident,  and  the  others  did  not  know 
what  was  to  follow. 

The  instructor  stooped  and  raised  the  paper 
from  the  floor.  "  Whose  is  this?  "  he  demanded. 
Bagley  glanced  at  Woodbury.  The  Senior's  face 
was  white  as  chalk.  For  a  moment  the  room  was 
so  still  that  the  Freshman  thought  he  could  hear 
his  heart  beat.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  did  a 
year's  thinking  in  that  period  of  awful  silence. 

"  Whose  is  this,  I  ask?  "  the  instructor  repeat- 
ed. 

Then,  to  the  intense  astonishment  of  every  man 
in  the  room,  the  religious  Bagley  leaned  for- 
ward and  said  very  slowly  and  distinctly:  "  It 
belongs  to  me.     I  dropped  it." 

Woodburv  made  a  convulsive  movement  and 


148  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  the  words  died 
in  his  throat. 

Then,  with  every  eye  upon  him,  Bagley  rose 
and  left  the  class-room.  Immediately  Woodbury 
pulled  himself  to  his  feet  and  went  after  him. 
The  two  met  in  the  hall. 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for?  "  asked  the  Senior, 
falteringly. 

Bagley's  head  whirled  with  the  tumult  that  was 
going  on  in  his  brain,  and  he  answered  steadily 
enough:  "  I  did  it  for  a  good  many  reasons.  I 
thought  of  'em  all  while  he  stood  there  with  the 
paper  in  his  hand.  Expulsion  means  everything 
to  you,  and  it  doesn't  mean  much  of  anything  to 
me;  and  since  I  had  a  chance  to  do  you  a  very 
great  service  at  a  very  small  cost  to  myself,  why, 
I  was  glad  to  take  it;  that's  all." 

"  But  it  wasn't  called  for,"  said  Woodbury. 
"  He  didn't  see  the  paper  fall,  and  he  couldn't 
have  found  out  that  it  was  mine." 

"Yes,  he  could!"  said  the  Freshman.  "He 
knew  it  belonged  to  some  of  us  fellows  near  the 
aisle,  and  your  handwriting  would  have  given 
you  dead  away.  Now  he  won't  think  to  examine 
it  closely." 

"  Well,  I  shan't  let  this  thing  go  on!  "  said  the 
Senior.  "  I'm  going  back  to  tell  him  that  the 
crib  was  mine !  " 

"No,  you're  not!"  exclaimed  the  Freshman, 
laying  a  detaining  hand  on  the  other's  arm. 
"  Just  listen  to  me  a  minute !"     Bagley  began  to 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A  MAN.  149 

talk  very  fast  and  very  earnestly.  "  You're  a 
Senior,  and  you've  been  here  a  long  time,  and 
everybody  knows  about  you  and  what  a  lot  of 
fine  things  you've  done  here.  You  are  just  at  the 
end  of  your  course,  and  if  this  hadn't  happened 
you'd  have  gone  out  very  soon  with  a  great  name 
and  brilliant  prospects.  Your  mother  will  be  up 
to  see  you  graduate  in  a  few  days;  it  isn't  neces- 
sary for  me  to  say  how  she'd  feel  if  she  should 
hear  about  this.  And  I  heard  yesterday  (excuse 
me  for  speaking  about  what  is  nobody's  busi- 
ness but  your  own)  that  you  are  engaged,  or  just 
on  the  point  of  becoming  so,  to  that  girl  whom 
you  had  over  here  to  the  Prom.  I  needn't  tell 
you  how  she'd  feel  about  it  either.  Now,  as  for 
me,  I  haven't  any  of  these  things  to  think  abouL 
I'm  a  Freshman,  and  only  a  few  men  in  this 
whole  College  know  me,  and  they  will  forget 
they  ever  saw  me  in  three  months'  time.  So  the 
disgrace  before  the  College  won't  mean  anything 
to  me.  My  mother  has  been  dead  two  years; 
it  can't  trouble  her.  I  never  had  any  brothers 
or  sisters,  as  you  know,  and  there  is  no  girl  that 
I  care  about.  There's  only  my  father  to  hear  it, 
and  I  can  explain  it  to  him.  And  next  year  I 
can  enter  somewhere  else  and  go  on  just  the  same 
as  before.  Now,  listen  to  reason,  and  don't  ruin 
your  prospects  for  life  for  a  mere  quibble  about 
a  point  of  honor!  " 

Woodbury  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments 
after  the  other  had  ceased  speaking.     Then  he 


ISO  AA"  AMHERST  BOOK. 

held  out  his  hand,  and  began  to  pour  forth  a 
stream  of  lavish  encomiums  upon  the  Freshman's 
generosity. 

Bagley  cut  him  short.  "  That's  all  right,"  he 
said.  "  Don't  give  me  too  much  credit.  I  would 
not  do  it  if  it  cost  me  anything.  We'd  better  get 
away  from  here  now,  before  he  comes  out.  He 
might  ask  me  some  inconvenient  questions,  and 
I'm  not  a  very  cheerful  liar,  to  be  frank." 

That  evening,  when  the  6:15  train  stopped  at 
the  Amity  station,  a  single  student  boarded  it, 
and  was  whirled  away  through  the  twilight. 
And  the  next  day  the  faculty  heard  that  Fresh- 
man Bagley  had  run  like  a  coward  from  the 
consequences  of  his  dishonorable  act,  and  they 
voted  that  his  name  be  dropped  from  the  rolls  of 
the  College. 

It  was  about  a  week  later  that,  by  the  merest 
accident,  a  Senior  chanced  to  refer  to  Bagley 
in  Woodbury's  presence. 

"  Bagley!  "  said  he.  "  He  came  from  your 
town,  didn't  he,  Arthur?  An  acquaintance  of 
yours,  I  suppose?  Pretty  poor  sort  of  a  stick, 
wasn't  he?  " 

"  Well,  he  wasn't  exactly  a  star,"  said  Wood- 
bury.   "  I  didn't  know  him  very  well." 

WORTHINGTON   C.    HOLMAN,   '96. 


WITHIN  HER  KISS. 

Within  her  kiss  was  centered  all  delight, 

Within  her  arms  nor  hurt  nor  grief  could  mar; 
Her  soul  I  found  my  own  soul's  home,  where 
bar 
Nor  screen  might  hide  my  thoughts  from  her 
clear  sight. 

Across  the  seas  I  thought  her  love  a  light 
That  dwelt  serene  above  me  like  a  star; 
I  thought  it  led  me  homeward  from  afar; 

I  came,  and  here  I  found  her  black  as  night. 

Only  the  cool-lipped  blossoms  kiss  I  now; 

I  trust  the  loyalty  of  plant  and  stone ; 
To  passion-heated  man  I  will  not  bow. 

Yet  is  chaste  beauty  wholly  desert-grown? 
Can  earthly  clod  a  neighbor  clod  endow? 
Has  bloom  an  innocency  of  its  own? 

Robert  P.  St.  John, '93. 


ACROSS  THE  RIVER. 


It  is  easy  enough  to  go  to  Northampton  now- 
adays; so  easy,  indeed,  as  to  arouse  misgivings 
in  the  hearts  of  people  who  regret  the  passing 
of  the  good  old  days.  They  are  gone,  in  very 
truth !  The  "  indigent,  pious  yoimg  men  "  of  the 
early  catalogues  seem  to  have  disappeared.  The 
Antivenenean  is  dead,  Alexandria  and  Athenae 
have  yielded  to  the  law  of  natural  selection,  and 
the  stage  line  to  "  Hamp."  has  been  a  matter  of 
history  these  ten  years.  If  we  pay  these  departed 
institutions  the  tribute  of  a  passing  regret,  it  is 
in  a  Pickwickian  sense,  for  we  surely  do  not 
wish  them  back  again.  One  may  yield  to  senti- 
ment long  enough  to  deplore  the  rude  inter- 
ruption of  Hadley's  venerable  drowsiness  by  the 
shriek  of  the  steam  whistle;  but,  after  all,  we  do 
not  care  very  much  about  Hadley,  peaceful  and 
picturesque  as  it  is.  Northampton  in  fifteen  min- 
utes is  the  main  consideration. 

It  is  hardly  probable  that  the  College  would 
have  welcomed  the  railroad  as  warmly  as  it  did 
had  it  not  been  for  Sophia  Smith,  of  blessed 
memory,  and  the  temperance  proclivities  of  the 
good  citizens  of  Amherst.  With  no  lack  of  re- 
spect for  the  Edwards  Church,  Elm  street  and 
the  social  and  literary  traditions  of  Northampton, 


154  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

it  must  be  said  that  Smith  College  divides  with 
Dewey  et  al.  the  responsibility  for  the  semi-week- 
ly exodus  from  Amherst.  A  due  sense  of  the 
proprieties  leads  us  to  add,  with  all  convenient 
haste,  that  by  far  the  larger  share  of  the  load 
must  be  assumed  by  the  college. 

It  is  a  custom  of  the  Eminent  Person,  when 
he  visits  Amherst,  to  congratulate  us  upon  the 
fact  that  here  in  Hampshire  County  we  have 
solved  the  problem  of  co-education.  This  is  un- 
derstood to  be  a  witticism  on  the  part  of  the  Emi- 
nent Person.  But  even  the  benevolent  facetious- 
ness  with  which  it  is  delivered  fails  to  remove 
from  the  jest  a  certain  clumsiness.  Perhaps  the 
individuals  who  are  invited  to  the  Geological  Tea 
and  the  Colloquium  duly  appreciate  it,  but  the 
truth  is  that  the  average  undergraduate  of  Am- 
herst knows  little,  and  perhaps  cares  less,  about 
Smith  as  an  educational  institution.  He  takes 
his  own  education  seriously  enough  in  the  class- 
room, turns  it  into  a  joke  the  minute  he  is  out- 
side, and  by  the  time  he  has  bolted  his  dinner 
and  is  safely  landed  in  the  rear  car  of  the  "  one- 
twenty,"  on  his  way  to  Hamp.  he  has  forgotten 
all  about  it.  The  fact  that  Smith  is  an  exponent 
of  the  higher  education  for  women  appeals  to 
him  chiefly  as  the  cause  of  the  conditions  which 
surround  the  performance  of  ordinary  social 
functions  on  the  Campus.  The  high  and  serious 
aims  of  the  College  doubtless  account  for  the 
gruesome  saints  which  stare  down  at  him  from 


ACROSS   THE  RIVER.  155 

the  walls  in  the  college  houses.  Xowhere,  except 
in  a  college  community,  would  one  be  likely  to 
find  a  member  of  the  so-called  "  weaker  sex  " 
showing  such  an  intimate  and  affectionate  inter- 
est in  small  snakes  and  frogs  as  does  the  biolog- 
ical student  with  whom  one  is  wooing  the  ma- 
larial pleasures  of  "  Paradise." 

Between  the  schedule  of  the  Massachusetts 
Central  and  the  rules  of  the  College,  an  evening 
call  at  Smith  is  likely  to  bear  a  certain  distant 
resemblance  to  a  quick  lunch  at  a  railroad  res- 
taurant. If  you  do  not  have  to  depart  uncere- 
moniously to  catch  the  last  train  to  Amherst, 
you  are  more  than  likely  to  be  reminded,  by  an 
emphatic  bell-ringing,  that  the  "  higher  educa- 
tion "  cannot  get  along  without  a  ten  o'clock  rule. 
However,  the  inconveniences  are  few  and  the 
pleasures  many.  There  are  tennis  tournaments. 
There  is  boating  on  Mill  river — after  a  heavy 
rain.  There  are  glee  club  concerts,  and  dra- 
matics, and  afternoon  teas,  and  occasionally — for 
a  few  favored  mortals,  it  is  said — there  is  a 
basketball  game.  With  all  these  it  is  perhaps 
not  surprising  that  there  is  little  hope  for  a  man 
who  once  acquires  the  Hamp.  habit,  a  habit 
harmless  and  pleasant  enough,  except  when  it 
takes  the  form  of  a  mania  for  carrying  ominous- 
ly light  suit-cases  across  the  river,  and  bringing 
them  back  heavier  by  half  than  any  respectable 
suit-case  ought  to  be.  Of  course,  the  habit 
highly  developed  interferes  with  the  close  pursuit 


156  AA^  AMHERST  BOOK. 

of  the  chief  end  of  man — P  B  K,  first  drawing-. 
One  cannot  learn  to  make  trains  in  spite  of  the 
Chapel  clock,  and  also  be  a  rank-stacker.  More- 
over, the  inveterate  society  man  does  not  escape 
frequent  trips  to  Northampton  behind  hired 
horses.  Such  trips  are  pleasant  in  the  spring  and 
early  fall,  endurable  in  the  late  fall  and  a  part  of 
the  winter,  and  unspeakable  the  rest  of  the  time. 
Also  your  livery  bill  is  a  grievous  pest  to  the 
pocketbook. 

We  should  fare  but  poorly  without  Northamp- 
ton. There  can  the  Freshman  disport  himself  in 
the  vain  delvision  that  people  do  not  know  his 
humble  state.  There  can  the  Junior  display  his 
latest  from  Staab's.  There  also  can  the  thirsty 
soul  quench  his  thirst.  There  professors  cease 
from  troubling,  and  their  victims  are  at  rest. 
May  an  overruling  Providence  strengthen  the 
railroad  bridge  and  hasten  the  hum  of  the  trolley. 

Frank  Edgerton  Harkness,  '96. 


MY  WDY. 

I  moved  unheeding  through  the  festal  hall, 

Where  men  and  maidens,  circling  in  the  dance, 
Would  now  retire,  now  two  by  two  advance, 

Responsive  to  soft  music's  rise  and  fall. 

What  though  the  lights  gleamed  bright  above 
them  all? 
What  though  their  jewels  flashed  with  every 

glance? 
Without  my  lady's  gracious  countenance 

All  was  a  gloom,  where  I  was  held  in  thrall. 

When,  lo!  she  came,  and  as  she  moved  along 
The  splendor  of  her  presence  filled  the  place. 

And  sent  a  silence  through  the  careless  throng; 
And  from  my  heart  the  magic  of  her  grace 
And  spirit-beauty  glowing  in  her  face 

Banished   the   night,   and   made   me   calm   and 
strong. 

George  Breed  Zug,  '93. 


JEAN  BENOIT. 

Many  years  ago,  when  a  terrible  pestilence 
was  spreading  throughout  the  center  of  France, 
there  came  to  the  town  of  Beauchamp  a  great 
and  good  man.  Some  of  the  townsfolk  said  he 
was  a  priest  in  disguise,  who  had  come  from 
Paris;  others  that  he  was  a  monk — one  of  the 
brothers  from  the  time-scarred  monastery  on  the 
hill.  At  any  rate,  whether  priest  or  monk,  his 
arrival  seemed  to  be  the  work  of  God;  for  no 
sooner  did  he  take  up  his  abode  among  the 
stricken  people  than  he  began  to  do  what  he 
could  to  lessen  their  sufferings.  Wherever  the 
deadly  disease  had  found  its  way,  there,  like  some 
ministering  angel,  he  went,  giving  medicine  and 
food  to  those  that  were  poor  or  starving.  En- 
couraged, by  his  untiring  zeal  and  noble  self-sac- 
rifice the  people  forgot  their  terror,  and  fought 
the  dreaded  plague  until  at  last  it  was  overcome. 
And  when  the  men  arose  from  their  beds  and 
again  went  into  the  fields,  with  hardly  a  word 
to  any  one  this  much-beloved  man  silently  dis- 
appeared, leaving  behind  only  his  name — Jean 
Benoit. 

For  thirty  years  the  name  of  Jean  Benoit  was 
upon  everybody's  lips.  People  spoke  of  him  as 
the  Savior  of  their  town.     At  religious  services 


l6o  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

prayers  were  offered  in  remembrance  of  the  work 
he  had  accompHshed.  And  when,  at  last,  the 
Abbe  Frangois  said,  while  dying,  that  he  hoped 
a  statue  would  soon  be  raised  in  honor  of  Jean 
Benoit,  and  that  he  had  left  some  money  for  that 
purpose,  to  which  additions  ought  to  be  made, 
the  people  heartily  seconded  his  wish  and  gen- 
erously increased  the  Abbe's  sum  to  large  pro- 
portions. 

One  morning,  Philippe,  the  new  cure, 
knocked  at  the  door  of  Jules  Ninon,  the  sculptor. 

"  Jules,"  said  the  cure,  as  he  seated  himself 
at  the  window,  "  you  remember  Jean  Benoit?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure!  "  exclaimed  Jules  in  sur- 
prise, "  did  not  Jean  Benoit  save  my  life  when  I 
was  young?  " 

"You  recall  his  face,  his  figure,  his  dress?" 
inquired  PhiHppe. 

"  Perfectly,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  answered  the 
sculptor. 

"  Could  you  carve  him  in  marble,  Jules?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  I'Abbe.  I  can  see  him  now — 
a  young  man,  tall  and  fair,  his  long,  black  coat 
falling  almost  to  his  feet,  his  kind,  handsome 
eyes,  his — " 

"  Jules  you  may  begin  work  at  once,"  inter- 
rupted the  abbe.     "  How  long  will  it  take?  " 

"  I  shall  want  a  long  time.  Monsieur  I'Abbe, 
It  must  be  my  best  work." 

"  Very  well,  Jules.  But  let  thy  love  for  the 
man  quicken  thy  hands," 


JEAN  BENOIT.  i6i 

The  sculptor  worked  hard  and  earnestly.  Day 
by  day,  under  his  skillful  touch,  the  marble  block 
changed  its  rough  outlines  to  those  of  the  bene- 
factor of  thirty  years  before.  To  Jules  Ninon 
it  seemed  as  though  the  hours  came  and  went  with 
lightning  rapidity.  But  one  purpose  was  ever 
before  him;  to  finish  the  statue,  to  show  his 
townspeople  that  he  could  cause  Jean  Benoit 
again  to  be  with  them.  As  the  click  of  his  chisel 
sounded  in  his  locked  studio  he  thought  how 
proud  he  would  be  to  have  his  name  forever  as- 
sociated with  that  of  the  great  man.  Perhaps, 
in  some  little  way,  he,  too,  would  be  remembered 
by  the  men  and  women  of  Beauchamp.  For 
would  he  not  have  given  them  the  imperishable 
form  of  him  whose  name  was  ever  in  their  minds? 

At  last,  on  an  evening  in  July,  Jules  laid  down 
his  chisel.  "  It  is  finished!  "  said  he,  and  he 
stepped  back  to  look  at  his  work.  Yes!  he  had 
done  well.  It  was  Jean  Benoit  even  as  he  had 
lived  among  the  sufferers  so  many  years  ago.  As 
the  red  rays  of  the  setting  sun  stole  through  the 
studio  window  and  lighted  up  the  calm,  saintly 
face  of  the  statue,  it  seemed  to  Jules  Ninon,  as  he 
gazed  enraptured  at  the  idol  of  his  heart,  that  this 
marble  form  was  about  to  take  life  and  walk  once 
more  among  the  people  of  the  town. 

That  same  night  Jules  called  at  the  house  of 
I'Abbe  Philippe. 

"  Monsieur  I'Abbe,"  said  he,  "  I  have  finished 
the  statue." 


i62  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

"  Good!  "  answered  the  priest.  "  We  can  now 
have  it  removed  to  the  Square  and  placed  upon 
the  pedestal,  for  that,  too,  is  done." 

"  And  when  will  it  be  unveiled,  Monsieur  le 
Cure?" 

"  On  the  morning  of  the  twenty-third  at  sun- 
rise. It  was  then,  you  remernber,  that  Jean  Be- 
noit  first  came  among  us." 


One  evening  just  at  dusk  a  man  was  walking 
along  the  dusty  highway  that  leads  southward 
and  passes  through  the  town  of  Beauchamp. 
The  man  was  old  and  worn  w'ith  constant  travel. 
He  wore  a  weather-stained  cloak  and  hat,  his 
feet  were  covered  with  a  pair  of  peasant's  shoes, 
and  in  his  hand  he  carried  a  stout  stick.  The 
general  impression  that  he  gave,  however,  was 
not  one  of  poverty;  for  his  raiment,  despite  its 
soiled  and  dusty  condition,  was  not  old.  He 
plodded  on  laboriously,  stopping  now  and  then 
to  rest  or  to  look  backward  over  the  road  he  had 
just  travelled.  At  last  he  reached  the  northern 
gate  of  the  town.  Scarcely  noticed  by  the  old 
porter  who  stood  ready  to  close  the  barrier  for 
the  night,  he  entered  the  paved  street  and  slow- 
ly made  his  way  tow^ard  the  inn,  situated  about 
three  hundred  yards  inside  the  town  wall.  As 
he  reached  this  yard,  wherein  several  horses  were 
standing,  he  saw,  by  means  of  the  great  lamp  that 
shone  over  the  door,  a  girl  drawing  water  from 
a  well.    He  approached. 


JEAN  BENOIT.  163 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  drink,  Mademoiselle?  " 

The  girl  filled  the  cup  and  extended  it  to  the 
traveller.  "You  have  come  a  long  way,  Mon- 
sieur," said  she,  "  and  you  are  tired.  We  are 
full  to-night,  but  perhaps  there  is  room  for  you — 
I  will  see." 

"  Thank  you,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  the  man, 
"  but  I  cannot  stop." 

"  Monsieur  cannot  go  on  to-night — the  gates 
will  soon  be  closed." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know — I  have  friends." 

"  Where  is  Monsieur  from?  " 

"  From — but  I  keep  you,  Mademoiselle." 

The  stranger  slipped  a  coin  into  the  damsel's 
hand  and  slowly  left  the  yard. 

When  the  old  man  reached  the  Town  Square 
he  stopped.  It  was  now  so  dark  that  the  few 
people  who  were  still  on  the  streets  could  not 
see  him  as  he  leaned  close  to  the  walls  of  a 
building.  He  was  very  weak.  The  long  march 
that  he  had  taken  had  told  upon  him,  and  now 
he  would  fain  lie  down  to  sleep.  For  some  time 
he  stood  watching  the  lights  as  they  shone  from 
the  windows  looking  out  upon  the  Square.  Sud- 
denly the  sharp  sound  of  hoofs  and  the  distant 
clank  of  steel  broke  upon  his  ears;  the  bell  at 
the  town  gate  began  to  ring;  and  as  the  old  man 
tottered  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  knowing 
too  well  what  was  the  cause  of  this  commotion, 
he  saw  a  crowd,  led  by  men  with  torches,  bearing 
down  upon  him.    At  their  head  were  eight  or  ten 


I64  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

horsemen,  their  steel  armor  reflecting  the  yellow 
glare.  And  although  still  several  hundred  feet 
away  from  the  approaching  rabble,  the  old  man 
plainly  heard  the  cries  of  those  who  were  direct- 
ing the  soldiers. 

"  God  help  me;  I  am  lost!  "  he  exclaimed.  In- 
stinctively he  turned  to  the  right.  At  his  side 
stood  a  tall,  dark  object.  With  feeble  steps  he 
went  toward  it.  It  was  something  covered  with 
a  heavy  black  cloth.  He  drew  aside  the  folds. 
Even  in  that  darkness  the  steps  of  a  stone  ped- 
estal caught  his  eye.  "  A  statue  to  be  unveiled," 
he  thought.  Quickly  hiding  within  the  folds 
of  the  black  covering,  he  tried  to  ascend  the 
steps.  He  fell;  but  no  cry,  no  sound  went  forth 
into  the  night.  Nearer  came  the  soldiers  and  the 
excited  rabble.  The  torches  cast  their  light  upon 
the  statue  of  Jean  Benoit  wrapped  in  its  sombre 
drapery.  For  a  moment  the  crowd  paused;  and 
then,  with  another  cry,  above  which  was  heard 
the  order  of  the  captain,  "  On,  men,  on!  He  can- 
not escape  us — it  is  the  king's  will!"  they  once 
more  took  up  the  pursuit  and  were  soon  lost 
to  hearing  in  the  dark  streets  beyond. 


On  the  morning  of  the  twenty-third,  long  be- 
fore sunrise,  the  streets  of  Beauchamp  were 
crowded  with  people.  The  unsuccessful  search 
made  by  the  king's  soldiers  had  kept  many  from 
their  slumbers.  During  the  entire  night  the  cap- 
tain of  the  horsemen,  thrusting  the  royal  seal  and 


JEAN  BENOIT.  165 

signature  into  the  face  of  those  who  objected^ 
had  pried  into  those  houses  and  yards  wherein 
he  thought  the  object  of  his  search  might  be 
concealed. 

Among  others,  Jules  Ninon  had  been  rudely- 
summoned  from  his  bed  and  ordered  in  the  name 
of  the  king  to  open  his  rooms  for  inspection. 
When  the  men  finally  left  his  house,  satisfied 
that  no  one  was  hiding  there,  it  was  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  Already  the  eastern  sky  was 
tinged  with  the  glow  of  the  coming  dawn,  and 
instead  of  returning  to  his  couch  the  sculptor 
went  to  call  the  cure.  He  found  him  already 
dressed. 

"Did  they  find  the  man,  Jules?"  asked  the 
cure,  as  they  made  their  way  toward  the  Town 
Square. 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Cure;  and  they  have  been 
searching  all  night.  They  were  rude  enough  to 
think  that  /  would  harbor  a  state  prisoner,  for 
they  have  but  just  now  left  my  house." 

"  Who  is  he,  Jules — what  is  the  man's 
name?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu!  Monsieur  1' Abbe,  I  do  not 
know;  I  was  so  afraid  the  soldiers  would  harm 
my  studio  I  forgot  to  ask  questions." 

"  Is  it  known  why  the  king  wants  this  man?  " 

"  A  court  secret.  Monsieur  I'Abbe — so  the 
captain  said." 

"  He  will  be  free  in  half  an  hour,  Jules.  The 
gates  will  be  open." 


JEAN  BENCIT.  167 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Cure.  They  have  doubled 
the  guards,  and  all  who  go  out  are  questioned." 

When  the  priest  and  the  sculptor  reached  the 
Square,  they  found  a  large  crowd  waiting  for 
them.  Passing  among  the  people,  who  bowed 
reverently  as  they  went  by,  they  entered  the 
little  enclosure  at  the  foot  of  the  statue.  At  that 
moment,  with  a  loud  clattering  of  hoofs  and  rat- 
tle of  swords,  the  horseman  entered  the  Square 
and  drew  rein  at  one  side  of  the  assembled 
throng. 

L'Abbe  Philippe  mounted  a  wooden  stand 
and  cast  his  eyes  over  the  faces  before  him.  Every 
moment  the  number  was  growing  larger.  Old 
and  young  were  flocking  hither  to  see  the  mem- 
orial of  their  blessed  benefactor  unveiled  to  the 
morning  sun.  Already  it  had  risen  above  the 
eastern  hills  and  was  painting  the  chimneys  and 
roofs  with  golden  light. 

The  cure  extended  his  hands  toward  the  peo- 
ple and  they  knelt  upon  the  stone  pavement.  The 
soldiers  alone  remained  upright,  sitting  motion- 
less upon  their  horses.  Raising  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  the  priest  oflfered  a  short  prayer  for  the 
memory  of  the  good  and  saintly  man  who  had 
come  among  them  so  long  ago.  When  he  had 
ended  the  people  rose  silently  to  their  feet  and 
pressed  closer  to  catch  every  word. 

"  We  have  gathered,''  said  the  abbe,  "  to 
honor  him  whose  name  shall  never  be  forgot- 
ten.    Thirty  years  ago,  a  terrible  disease  spread 


I68  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

among  our  homes.  While  we  were  suffering,  God 
sent  us  a  great  man,  who,  as  His  minister,  saved 
us  from  death.  This  morning — ^the  same  as  that 
upon  which  he  came — you  may  again  be- 
hold his  face;  you  may  again  see  him  as 
he  walked  among  us  in  that  dreadful  season. 
Whene'er  you  shall  look  upon  this  statue  raised 
by  your  generous  hands,  remember  him  in  your 
prayers,  and  pray  that  his  soul  rests  in  peace." 

As  the  Abbe  Philippe  ceased  speaking,  he 
turned  to  Jules  Ninon,  who  was  at  the  foot  of 
the  pedestal,  and  raised  his  hand.  The  sculptor 
stepped  back  and  pulled  a  cord.  Instantly  the 
black  covering  fell,  and  the  marble  figure  of  Jean 
Benoit  stood  bathed  in  glorious  sunshine. 

A  mighty  shout  arose  from  all  the  spectators. 
Hardly,  however,  had  the  walls  of  the  surround- 
ing houses  sent  back  the  echo,  when  absolute  si- 
lence fell  upon  the  people;  for  there,  at  the  top 
of  the  pedestal  and  extended  under  the  feet  of 
the  statue,  lay  the  lifeless  form  of  a  man.  The 
sculptor  sprang  up  the  stone  steps  and  bent  over 
the  body.  At  the  same  instant  the  captain  of 
the  horsemen,  followed  by  his  men,  pushed  into 
the  crowd. 

"  Make  room  there,  make  room!  "  shouted  the 
officer.  "  In  the  king's  name!  It  is  he — the 
prisoner!    Forward,  men!  " 

But  ere  the  soldiers  could  force  a  passage, 
Jules   Ninon  rose  from  the  dead  man  beneath 


JEAN  BENOIT.  169 

him  and  cried  in  a  voice  that  penetrated  every 
ear: 

"It  is  Jean  Benoit!  Jean  Benoit!!  Defend 
him,  my  townsmen !  " 

The  effect  was  wonderful.  A  thousand  throats 
took  up  the  cry,  and  like  a  mighty  wave  the  mass 
surged  toward  the  base  of  the  statue.  The  sol- 
diers, unable  to  charge  forward,  so  closely  were 
the  men  and  women  pressed  against  the  horses' 
sides,  attempted  to  draw  their  swords;  but  the 
captain,  seeing  that  resistance  in  the  face  of  such 
enthusiasm  would  be  folly,  commanded  the  men 
to  use  no  violence.  When  the  wondering,  ex- 
cited crowd  could  get  no  closer,  and  since  they 
saw  that  the  soldiers  did  not  intend  to  use  their 
weapons,  they  fixed  their  eyes  upon  the  pair 
at  the  top  of  the  pedestal.  Slowly  the  shouts 
died  away,  and  the  square  was  again  silent. 

Once  more  the  cure  stretched  forth  his  hands. 
There  was  a  heavenly  light  in  his  eyes,  and  his 
words  were  few: 

"  My  children,  it  is  indeed  Jean  Benoit.  God 
has  sent  him  back  to  us  that  he  may  rest  in 
peace.  Take  him.  Bear  him  to  the  church,  and 
lay  him  beneath  our  hallowed  altar.  He  is  with 
US  forever."* 

Herman  Babson,  '93. 


*From  The  Independent,  April,  1896. 


THE  AMHEP5T  Or  TO-D/W. 

The  changes  Jn  the  college  buildings  since 
1875  are  not  such  as  to  appear  conspicuously  in 
the  view  on  the  opposite  page;  but  there  have 
been,  nevertheless,  important  additions  to  and 
improvements  in  the  college  equipment.  In  the 
first  place  East  College,  which  had  become  very 
dilapidated  and  went  begging  for  tenants,  was 
torn  down,  and  its  site  graded  and  turfed.  The 
college  grounds  were  cleared  up,  the  lawns  im- 
proved, and  walks  of  "  concrete  "  laid  in  all  di- 
rections. 

Since  1875  has  occurred  s,  loss  by  fire,  of  such 
magnitude  that  the  burning  of  Old  North  Col- 
lege is  a  trifle  in  comparison.  On  the  night  of 
March  29,  1882,  Walker  Hall  was  burned.  Only 
the  outside  walls  remained  standing,  and  all  the 
valuable  contents  were  destroyed.  "  The  mathe- 
matical diagrams  of  Professor  Esty,  the  astro- 
nomical calculations  of  Professor  Todd — the 
work  of  years,  the  official  and  private  papers  of 
President  Seelye,  the  apparatus  of  Professor 
Snell — much  of  it  the  invention  of  his  own  brain 
and  the  work  of  his  own  hand — all  went  up  in 
flame  and  smoke."  Most  keenly  felt  of  all  was 
the  loss  of  the  entire  mineralogical  collection  of 
Professor   Shepard,   the   mere   money  value  of 


172  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

which  had  been  placed  as  high  as  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  The  calamity  was  a  shock  to 
all  the  college  authorities,  especially  to  President 
Seelye.  But  almost  immediately  he  secured  from 
the  late  Henry  T.  Morgan,  of  Albany,  a  gift 
which,  together  with  the  insurance,  made  it  pos- 
sible to  rebuild  at  once.  The  walls  were  strength- 
ened, and  the  two  lower  stories  were  rebuilt  upon 
nearly  the  old  lines.  The  third  story,  formerly 
occupied  by  the  mineralogical  collections,  was 
reconstructed  on  an  entirely  new  and  better  plan, 
and  used  for  recitation  rooms. 

While  the  new  Walker  Hall  was  being  built 
the  library  was  enlarged  to  its  present  dimen- 
sions. The  difficult  problem  of  making  an  addi- 
tion larger  than  the  original  building,  and  of  se- 
curing at  the  same  time  a  harmonious  and  sym- 
metrical whole  from  an  architectural  point  of 
view,  was  deftly  solved  by  Francis  R.  Allen,  class 
of  '65.  This  work  was  not  complete  before 
Charles  M.  Pratt,  '79,  came  forward  with  a  hand- 
some gift  for  a  new  gymnasium,  which  was 
thrown  open  to  the  College  in  1884.  Amherst 
has  always  been  noted  for  her  system  of  physical 
culture,  and  Pratt  Gymnasium  is  the  worthy 
home  of  the  department,  having  a  complete 
equipment  of  apparatus  and  perfect  appoint- 
ments to  the  smallest  detail.  Its  spacious  main 
hall  is  also  the  scene  of  the  annual  alumni  din- 
ner and  the  two  promenades  of  the  year. 

In  1 891,  a  Biological  Laboratory,  with  lecture 


THE  AMHERST  OF    TO-DA  Y.  173 

and  reading  rooms,  was  added  to  Appleton  Cab- 
inet, and  well  equipped  with  microscopes  and 
other  apparatus.  The  new  Chemical  and  Physical 
Laboratories — built  under  one  roof,  but  entirely 
separate  from  each  other — were  ready  for  use  in 
1894.  President  Seelye  had  for  some  years 
planned  for  the  erection  of  a  new  chemical  lab- 
oratory, but  it  was  not  made  possible  until  part  of 
the  Fayerweather  bequest  came  to  the  College. 
The  double  laboratory  is  an  imposing  structure, 
of  stern  and  simple,  yet  tasteful  exterior.  No  ex- 
pense was  spared,  however,  in  the  effort  to  make 
the  interior  perfect  and  the  equipment  complete 
for  the  use  of  both  departments.  The  Chemical 
Laboratory  is  the  realization  of  plans  which  Pro- 
fessor Harris  perfected  after  years  of  experience 
and  visits  to  the  best  laboratories  of  Germany. 
The  Physics  Laboratory,  which  occupies  the 
southern  half  of  the  building,  was  constructed 
tinder  the  supervision  of  Professor  Kimball,  and 
is  splendidly  arranged  and  equipped. 

Since  1892  the  interiors  of  both  North  and 
South  Colleges  have  been  rebuilt,  only  the  big 
"beams  that  supported  the  floors  and  the  lines  of 
the  old  rooms  being  retained.  Steam  heat,  run- 
ning water,  large  fire-places  and  hardwood  floors 
are  among  the  innovations,  which  would  doubt- 
less seem  luxuries  to  the  alumni  who  occupied 
the  old  rooms.  The  old  Boltwood  mansion,  with 
its  imposing  pillars  in  front,  is  now  a  College 
Ijoarding-house,  and  has  been  named  Hitchcock 


174  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

Hall.  The  need  of  an  infirmary  for  the  proper 
care  of  sick  students,  so  long  felt  at  Amherst,  is 
now  to  be  supplied  in  the  shape  of  the  Pratt 
Health  Cottage,  given  to  the  College  by  George 
D.  Pratt,  '93.  It  will  be  located  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  campus,  on  an  elevated  and  quiet 
spot,  and  will  be  fully  equipped  with  every  con- 
venience for  the  care  of  the  sick. 

The  history  of  Amherst's  material  growth  has 
been  traced  so  gradually  in  these  six  sketches 
that  the  reader  may  not  appreciate  the  truly  won- 
derful changes  wrought  during  the  seventy-five 
years  unless  he  turns  abruptly  from  the  accom- 
panying view  of  College  Hill  to  that  dated  1821. 
After  comparing  the  two,  who  will  attempt  to 
picture  the  Amherst  of  1971?  Perhaps,  by  that 
time,  the  College  will  boast  a  new  College  Hall, 
a  new  Observatory,  a  College  boarding-hall  and  a 
new  dormitory.  We  can  only  hope  that  the  con- 
trast with  the  present  will  be  as  pleasing  as  that 
between  1821  and  1896,  which  the  progress  of 
seventy-five  years  affords  her  sons  to-day. 

Edward  Clark  Hood,  '97. 


IN  CAP  AND  GOWN. 


In  cap  and  gown  a  motley  crew 

Of  Seniors  flash  upon  my  view, 
With  dignified,  yet  dainty  tread. 
Their  gowns  in  glancing  folds  outspread, 

And  caps  with  careless  grace  askew. 

Grave  is  their  mien,  and  haughty,  too; 
Vast  is  their  knowledge,  if  you  knew 
How  unto  Science  and  Art  they're  wed 
In  cap  and  gown. 

What  great  high  thought  throbs  through  and 

through 
Each  mighty  brain?    Can  each  review 

Some  world-fraught  scheme  to  thrill  the  dead? 
Ah,  no !    'Tis  this  that  fills  each  head, 
"  Where  can  I  get  a  job  to  do 

"  In  cap  and  gown?" 

George  Breed^Zug,  '93. 


50MG  or  THE  SEA  ELIGHT. 

Sing  ho !  sing  ho !  for  the  sailing,  O ! 

For  the  salt,  salt  surge  and  the  winds  that  blow! 

And  the  foam  that's  flung  from  the  rail,  bent  low 

O'er  the  roaring  sea! 
Sing  ho!  then,  loud,  for  the  rattling  shroud, 
The  whistling  gale,  and  the  scudding  cloud, 
And  the  gray  gull  soaring  on  pinions  proud 

So  far  and  free! 

Sing  ho!  for  the  stars  that  bloom  at  night! 
For  the  streaming  wakC;  soft-sown  with  light ! 
And  the  face  that  shines  in  the  moon's  mist  white 

Near,  near,  and  sweet; 
For  the  tale  oft-told  that  will  ne'er  grow  old, 
The  shy  sweet  glance,  and  the  hand-clasp  bold, 
And  the  mad  wild  music  that  young  hearts  hold 

When  warm  lips  meet! 

Then  ho!  for  the  salt  sea's  breath  divine! 

It  thrills  the  blood  like  the  rage  of  wine 

As,  borne  by  long  billows  that  shake  and  shine, 

We  lose  the  lea ! 
Unsullied  the  breezes  sing  and  sweep; 
Forgot  are  dull  shoreward  hours  that  creep; 
With  joy  past  naming  our  pulses  leap 

Far  out  at  sea! 

WORTHINGTON    C.    HOLMAN,  '96. 


rilSUNDERSTOOD. 

"  Oh,  Dick!    Are  you  here?  " 

"  Yes.  What  do  you  want?  "  gruffly  replied 
the  handsome  young  giant  as  he  steadily  pulled 
at  his  chest-weights  on  the  wall  of  the  luxurious 
study  in  the  fraternity  house. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  heaven  are  you  doing 
up  here  such  a  night  as  this,  when  the  most  jolly 
reception  our  '  frat.'  ever  held  is  going  on  down- 
stairs?" asked  his  chum,  Frank  Lincoln. 

"  You  know  I'm  not  a  lady's  man,  Frank.  The 
girls  made  me  so  nervous  that  I  had  to  come  up 
l)ere  to  get  quieted  down  a  bit,"  (still  pulling  at 
the  chest-weights).  "  It's  worse  than  a  football 
game  for  nerves." 

"Drop  those  chest-weights,  old  man!  Your 
nerves!  Ha!  ha!  Anybody  would  think  you 
were  a  tea-drinking  old  maid  instead  of  center 
rush  on  a  football  team.  Come,  get  into  your 
coat!     I  want  you  to  meet  my  cousin  Dora." 

"  That  haughty,  fashionable  Miss  Van  de 
Linde?  I  prefer  to  stay  up  here  and  work  off 
my  *  Psych  '  conditions." 

"  Oh,  come  along,  you  fool!  There's  nothing 
aristocratic  about  her  except  her  name.  She's 
one  of  the  most  popular  girls  at  Smith." 

"  Miss  Van  de  Linde,  let  me  present  my  room- 


MISUNDERSTOOD  179 

mate,  Mr.  Aldrich.    ^Nliss  Van  de  Linde  has  never 
seen  our  grounds,  Dick." 

The  night  was  one  of  those  in  May,  when  Am- 
herst is  at  its  best.  The  Japanese  lanterns  on  the 
veranda  gave  just  hght  enough  for  a  quiet  stroll 
around  the  spacious  lawn.  The  orchestra  in  the 
house  was  playing  that  dreamy  Barcarole  of 
Chopin,  in  which  you  hear  the  joyous  tumult 
of  the  carnival  fade  away  till  you  feel  only  the 
regular  and  gentle  movement  of  the  Venetian 
gondola,  as  it  rocks  on  the  waves  of  the  bay. 
The  apple  and  pear  trees,  then  in  full  bloom, 
bathed  the  strollers  with  their  dainty  fragrance. 
Dick  was  intoxicated.  Just  what  he  said,  or 
where  they  wandered  Dick  never  knew,  but  he 
was  ready  to  strangle  Frank  when  he  appeared 
beside  them,  saying:  "  The  carriages  are  going, 
Dora,  and  your  chaperon  is  hunting  high  and  low 
for  you." 

"  Let  up  throwing  things  all  over  the  room! 
We  don't  have  this  den  picked  up  often  enough 
so  that  we  can  afiford  to  have  it  all  tumbled  in 
a  heap  the  first  day.  Pull  on  your  chest-weights 
if  you  must  do  something!  Dora  seems  to  have 
completely  hypnotized  you  to-night.  Let's  go 
down  and  finish  those  things  left  from  the  spread. 
Don't  believe  you  took  her  in  to  supper  at  all." 

"  Never  thought  of  it." 

"  Of  course  not,  you  good-natured  egotist,  you 
were  in  the  seventh  heaven  when  1  found  you. 


l8o  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

and  you  hardly  seem  to  have  recovered  yet  from 
that  ecstatic  state." 

Dick's  Uvery  bill  soon  grew  to  generous  pro- 
portions. "  Might  as  well  live  at  Northampton 
all  the  time,"  said  Frank  to  his  chum  one  night  a 
few  weeks  later,  as  he  returned  from  a  call  at 
Smith. 

"  That  wouldn't  be  so  bad,"  replied  Dick,  in 
the  best  of  humor.  He  never  seemed  bored  now 
when  the  boys  talked  about  the  girls. 

"  Solomon  in  all  his  glory !  "  cried  Frank  one 
morning  in  June,  coming  into  the  room  just  as 
Dick  was  going  out  arrayed  in  his  new  summer 
suit  and  wearing  a  smile  that  illuminated  the 
room. 

"  Where  now,  Dick?  " 

"Whately  Glen." 

"  With  Dora?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Chaperon?" 

"  No." 

"  You  know  that's  as  good  as  an  announce- 
ment of  your  engagement?  " 

"I  don't  care!" 

"  But  Dora?  " 

"  She's  willing." 

Throwing  his  notebook  at  the  desk,  his  cap 
in  the  corner,  and  dropping  on  the  couch,  Frank 
gave  vent  to  a  prolonged  whistle. 

"Well?" 

"  Her  mother  always  expected  her  to  marry  in 


MISUNDERSTOOD.  i8i 

their  own  swell  set,  and  I  don't  know  how  she 
will  take  it." 

"  I  admit  that  I  am  not  one  of  the  '  Four  Hun- 
dred,' but  father  will  give  me  a  big  start,  and  we 
can  live  in  good  shape.  I'm  no  impecunious  ad- 
venturer.   Besides  they  are  not  rich." 

"  No,  but  they  are  proud,  blue-blooded  and 
aristocratic." 

But  all  this  had  little  terror  for  Dick,  who,  too 
happy  to  look  on  the  dark  side  of  anything,  went 
off  whistling  and  swinging  his  cane. 

After  dinner,  slinging  his  botany  can  over  his 
shoulder,  Frank  set  out  for  the  Hadley  meadows 
to  get  specimens  to  finish  his  herbarium.  Half 
way  down  the  Amity  street  hill  he  met  Dick. 
With  head  down,  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and 
rigid  face  he  was  urging  on  the  exhausted  horse, 
already  covered  with  sweat  and  foam. 

"  Hold  on,  you  brute!  "  shouted  Frank,  as  he 
caught  the  horse  by  the  bridle.  He  loved  horses 
and  would  never  see  them  abused.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  driving  like  a  madman  when  the 
mercury  is  up  in  the  90s?  " 

"  Let  me  alone ! "  growled  Dick  fiercely  as  he 
reached  for  the  whip. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  anyhow?  I 
never  saw  you  act  like  this  before." 

"  Nothing." 

"Where's  Dora?" 

"  'Hamp  " 

"  Quarrel?  " 


i82  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

"  If  yoit  think  I'm  going-  to  tell  you,  you  are 
mistaken,  Frank  Lincoln.  You  are  no  Father 
confessor.  Don't  you  dare  mention  her  to  me 
again.    I'm  done!  " 

*  *  Vanitas  vanitatuni!  What  in  the  world  made 
them  quarrel?"  mused  Frank  as  he  searched  for 
specimens.  "  I'm  sure  she  loved  him.  I'm  afraid 
he  will  take  it  hard." 

They  were  both  graduated  before  the  end  ot 
the  month,  he  from  Amherst,  she  from  Smith. 
He  went  abroad  for  extended  travels,  while  she 
threw  herself  into  the  gay  life  at  Newport.  Both 
were  bitter  and  unforgiving;  both  thought  that 
their  love  had  been  thrown  away  on  an  unworthy 
object. 

The  Carnival  was  at  its  height  when  Dick  sat 
in  a  Venetian  cafe  reading  the  Paris  edition  of 
the  Herald,  while  he  waited  for  his  breakfast. 
A  familiar  name  in  the  society  notes  from  New 
York  caught  his  eye,  and  he  read : 

"  Mrs.  Van  de  Linde  and  her  beautiful  and 
accomplished  daughter,  who  has  been  the  life 
of  the  Four  Hundred  during  the  winter,  have 
gone  south  for  a  few  weeks.  They  will  return  in 
time  for  the  post- Lenten  gayetes. 

"Just  as  I  thought!  "  commented  Dick,  as  he 
crushed  the  paper  in  his  hands.  "  She  never 
cared  for  me.  It  was  a  good  thing  she  found  it 
out  that  day  at  Whately.  What  right  has  a  so- 
ciety girl  to  say  that  I  care  for  nothing^  but  self?  " 


MISUNDERSTOOD.  183 

he  asked  furiously  as  he  seized  his  hat  and  went 
out  without  eating  his  breakfast. 

"  I  met  a  college  friend  of  Frank's  at  Rome, 
Dora,"  said  one  of  her  friends,  who  was  just 
home  from  a  mid-winter  cruise  through  the  Med- 
iterranean. "  He  was  just  splendid  to  Mamma 
and  me.  He  was  a  regular  Apollo,  but  he  didn't 
seem  to  have  a  bit  of  ambition  to  do  anything 
except  enjoy  himself.  He  hadn't  the  least  idea 
where  he  was  going  next  or  when  he  was  com- 
ing back  to  America." 

"  What  was  his  name?  " 

"  Mr.  Aldrich.  I  think  he  said  he  was  Frank's 
chum  in  college.    Do  you  know  him?  " 

"  I  met  him  at  an  Amherst  reception." 

"  What?  You  are  not  going  now,  Dora?  I 
expected  you  to  stay  all  the  afternoon  and  hear 
about  my  trip." 

"  I'm  not  feeling  well  this  afternoon.  I'll  hear 
all  about  your  foreign  noblemen  et  cetera  later. 
Good-bye." 

*'  Just  as  I  thought — rich,  handsome  and  self- 
ish," said  Dora  to  herself,  as  she  rode  to  the 
hotel. 

"  Why,  Dora!  What  are  you  crying  about?" 
said  Mrs.  Van  de  Linde,  coming  into  their  apart- 
ments late  in  the  afternoon  and  seeing  her  daugh- 
ter with  swollen  eyes  and  tear-stained  cheeks. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  now,  Mamma.  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  the  german  at  the  Casino  to-night." 


Misunderstood.  185 

"Shi — ne!  Shi— ne!"  cried  the  dirty  httle 
bootblack,  as  he  pushed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  of  men  and  women  v/ho  were  standing  at 
the  stern  of  the  ferry-boat  "  Princeton,''  watch- 
ing the  efforts  of  the  "  Puritan  "  to  push  her  way 
through  the  floating  ice  that  filled  the  harbor 
one  afternoon  in  early  March  some  two  years 
later.  "  Shine,  sir?  "  eyeing  the  ugly  splashes  of 
New  York  mud  on  a  gentleman's  shoes.  The 
man  nodded  assent. 

"  Yes,  I  like  it  well  enough,"  replied  the  boy  to 
some  kindly  questions.  "  But  I  want  to  get  into 
some  regular  business.  All  dead  except  my 
mother.     Yes,  Fm  an  Italian." 

The  boy  took  the  bright,  new  quarter  which 
the  gentleman  gave  him  and  put  it  between  his 
teeth,  while  he  fumbled  for  the  change. 

"  That's  all  right.     Don't  mind  the  change." 

A  frisky  blast  of  March  wind  lifted  a  fat  old 
German's  hat  and  sent  it  rolHng  over  the  deck. 
The  owner,  unconscious  of  the  ridiculous  figure 
which  he  cut,  with  red  face,  flying  hair  and  out- 
stretched hands,  pursued.  "  Doiuicr  unci  Blitsen!" 
he  grunted  as  his  hat  continued  to  elude  him. 
"  Go  it,  Dutchey!  Go  in!  Go  in! "  shouted  the 
deck-hands.  At  last  the  little  bootblack  caught 
the  hat,  but  the  German,  unable  to  stop,  sent  the 
boy  sprawling  on  the  deck,  and  the  coin  slipped 
from  his  mouth  and  went  rolling  swiftly  across 
the  floor.  In  an  instant  the  boy  was  after  it.  It 
passed  under  the  gate,  but  the  swell  of  a  passing 


i36  AN  AMHERST  BOOK. 

steamer  made  the  ferry-boat  roll,  and  the  coin 
dropped  easily  on  its  side. 

"  Come  back !  Stop !  "  cried  many  voices  as 
the  boy  crawled  under  the  gate  to  regain  his 
money.  Another  fierce  blast  of  wind  swept 
around  the  boat  and  made  the  men  cling  to  their 
hats.  The  boy  clutched  wildly  at  the  gate,  but  it 
was  too  late,  for  the  wind  caught  him  and 
hurled  him  into  the  swirling,  foamy  waves  be- 
hind. Men  shouted,  cursed  and  ran  for  life-pre- 
servers and  ropes;  women  screamed  and  wrung 
their  hands.  The  only  man  who  kept  his  head 
was  the  one  who  had  given  the  lad  the  money. 
He  threw  ofif  his  coat,  opened  the  gate  and  leaped 
far  out  toward  the  little  figure  sinking  in  the  icy 
water. 

"  Come  inside  the  cabin,  Dora!  This  is  ter- 
rible! You  are  trembling  like  a  leaf.  What  made 
that  foolish  man  throw  away  his  life  for  that 
worthless  little  bootblack?" 

Dora  Van  de  Linde  did  not  reply.  Her  eyes 
were  fixed  on  her  long  lost  lover,  now  battling 
against  those  deadly  waves  to  save  a  poor  little 
street  Arab.  Selfish?  Never!  In  that  moment 
she  knew  that  in  her  pride  she  had  misjudged 
the  man  whom  she  truly  loved.  With  clenched 
hands  and  blanched  face  she  watched  the  life 
and  death  struggle.  "  He's  reached  him!  "  shout- 
ed the  crowd;  but  the  shout  was  quickly  followed 
by  a  groan,  "They  are  gone!"  A  great  cake 
of  floating  ice  had  struck  the  two  and  driven 


MISUNDERSTOOD.  187 

them  beneath  those  black,  cruel  waves.  No,  they 
were  up  again!  The  ferry-boat  had  stopped  and 
was  moving  cautiously  toward  them.  Nearer  and 
nearer  it  came,  till  a  noosed  line  was  thrown  to 
them,  and  the  chilled,  exhausted  and  bleeding 
rescued  and  rescuer  were  drawn  on  board. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  hero  opened  his  eyes 
in  the  ladies'  cabin,  and  looked  up  wonderingly 
into  the  face  of  the  beautiful  woman,  who,  un- 
mindful of  his  dripping  garments  and  the  curi- 
ous crowd  of  spectators,  knelt  beside  him  wildly 
chaffing  his  benumbed  hands,  while  the  tears 
coursed  down  her  cheeks. 

"Dick!  Oh,  Dick!  Forgive  me!  I  was  all 
wrong,"  she  sobbed. 

"  Dora,  my  darling! "  was  all  he  said,  but  it 
was  enough  to  make  her  happy. 

Ernest  Merrill  Bartlett,  '94, 


AMHERST  GOOD-BYE  50NG. 

Air:    "  Es    ritten    drei    Reiter." 
I. 

We  come,  college  scenes,  with  that  sacred  last 
word, 

Good-bye ; 
That  sound  sad  and  tender  wherever  'tis  heard — - 

Good-bye ; 
Our  hearts'  allegiance  around  you  is  twined 
For  here  are  memories  golden  enshrined; 

Good-bye,  good-bye,  good-bye, 

The  hour  of  parting  is  nigh. 

II. 

Fair  campus  and  grove,  with  your  background  of 
hills. 

Good-bye ; 
Old  buildings,  the  scene  of  our  joys  and  our  ills. 

Good-bye; 
Full  many  a  spot  more  imposing  is  found, 
But  none  to  which  such  affections  are  bound; 

Good-bye,  good-bye,  good-bye, 

The  hour  of  parting  is  nigh. 


AMHERST  GOOD-BYE  SONG.  189 

III. 

And  you  who  have  borne  with  onr  folHes  and 
pranks, 
Good-bye ; 
We  bring  you,  dear  teachers,  our  love  and  our 
thanks. 
Good-bye ; 
Our  lives  will  show  what  we've  missed  or  have 

won. 
But  honor  to  you  for  the  work  you  have  done ; 
Good-bye,  good-bye,  good-bye. 
The  hour  of  parting  is  nigh. 

IV. 

The  world  now  invites  us;  from  college   we're 
free. 

Good-bye ; 
And  no  one  can  tell  what  the  future  will  be — 

Good-bye; 
But  where'er  we  are,  or  whatever  we  do, 
Enough  if  to  Amherst  ideals  we  are  true ; 

Good-bye,  good-bye,  good-bye. 

On  thee  be  the  blessing  Most  High! 

John  F.  Genung. 


R57 


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